Rippers
by the0voice0from0above
Summary: AU: Castiel is a private physician who receives a request from Rippers, a popular cage fighting club, to attend to one of their employees. "RH or rapid healer: a human with the ability to heal at an expedited rate and repair the body in drastic ways." Warnings: extreme violence and gore. Rushed ending, couldn't be bothered to finish it.
1. Chapter 1

_Rippers_

_Summary: AU: Castiel is a private physician who receives a request from Rippers, a popular cage fighting club, to attend to one of their employees. "RH or rapid healer: a human with the ability to heal at an expedited rate and repair the body in drastic ways."_

_Warnings: extreme violence and gore. _

_Also available in PDF form. Send me a PM._

* * *

_"We're all architects of our own private hell. No one can hurt us like we've hurt ourselves." **– Young Guns, Bones.**_

* * *

With what he believed was entirely warranted trepidation, Castiel sidled past the heavy set bouncer staring down at him expressionlessly and entered the building. The smell of sweat and blood greeted his nostrils. The air was thick with it, making it difficult to breathe. He held onto the banister as he walked down the lengthy set of steps, fighting the urge to hold a handkerchief to his nose. Lighting was dim, barely there; a vague glow of a flickering fluorescent lamp above the door at the bottom. The walls and floor were black, probably to hide unwanted stains. Castiel had no doubts that the decor would continue throughout the whole edifice.

As he stumbled down the last step, slipping on something he didn't dare to look at, he pushed the heavy, cheaply painted door open. A blast of air marginally cleaner than what he had previously been breathing hit him with a whoosh, blowing through his short dark hair. Shouts and screams from both men and women mixed with the heavy drum and bass music blasting out of speakers too far away to see. The place was huge and filled to the rafters with people.

Castiel had exited the staircase onto what appeared to be a long balcony which also had numerous people leaning against the black metal railings, watching the fight taking place in the centre of the warehouse sized room. The ceiling was too high up to see but hanging from its shadowy depths were four giant spotlights, all aimed at the elevated caged ring which was surrounded by a sea of people.

Rippers, also known as "Rip Torn" and "Shredders", was one of the more popular cage fighting clubs in the district. Castiel usually distanced himself from such places, refusing to treat and help maintain the violent fighters who battled there. The call he had received, however, had sounded desperate, pleading, which had brought out his compassion so he had accepted the job. And Castiel was good at his job; he was fast, efficient, asked few questions and left once he was paid.

He made his way down the steps squeezing through the crowd, very pointedly ignoring the two fighting men ripping into each other with their bare hands, and walked up to one of the three bars.

"I'm Dr. Novak here to see Mr. Winchester," said Castiel to the man behind the counter who appraised him with barely hidden dislike and jerked his chin to one of the high stools. "I'll tell him you're here," he grunted.

Most people didn't like having outsiders in clubs like Rippers, outsiders who, like Castiel, never attended such places if they could avoid it. It made the regulars nervous and, although cage fighting itself wasn't illegal, RH fights were which was why Castiel's appearance, his smart attire, trench coat and formal manner were always unwelcome.

Castiel perched on the stool and folded his hands in his lap, eying the dubious pools of liquid on the counter. He ignored the gazes boring into him from all sides and waited patiently for the bar tender to return. When he did, he was accompanied by a very tall man with shaggy brown hair and fox-like eyes.

"Um, Dr. Novak?" asked the man. He had a boyish demeanour and Castiel felt himself softening towards it.

"Yes," said Castiel with a sharp nod. "You're Mr. Winchester?"

"Uh, yeah. I - Dean, my brother, he's – well, I guess you'll have to see for yourself," muttered the man. "Call me Sam by the way."

Castiel did nothing more than tilt his head to show it was acknowledged and held out a hand to indicate he should lead the way. They walked around the dense crowd, rather than through it, to reach a guarded door on the other side of the room. Sam opened it without a pause, holding the door for Castiel as he did so.

They entered a cool, grey corridor which was better lit and smelled cleaner. The pair passed by a few doors before coming to a halt outside one partially open. There was an argument taking place inside and someone was clearly in pain judging by the gasps and expletives.

"Look, it wasn't my fault, okay?! His arm just snapped!"

"I thought you knew what you were doing? He's back in the ring in forty minutes!"

"Will you two shut the fuck up and get me some fucking alcohol?"

"Get the man a whiskey."

"I don't think that's a good idea, he's already had more than enough pain killers –"

"Oh, I'm sorry are you the manager?"

"No..."

"Then get him his damn whiskey you stupid fucker!"

Sam opened the door just as a bulky man pushed past him. Castiel figured the room they were in was supposed to be an office of some kind. There was a battered old computer sitting on the desk on the far right of the oblong room with a monitor which probably weighed more than Castiel. The walls were a yellowish brown colour, the carpet was rough wiry and grey and there was a lone fan spinning slowly on the ceiling. On one of the uncomfortable looking plastic chairs in the corner was a man clutching what had to be the worst disfiguration of an arm Castiel had ever seen. Not only was the shoulder joint dislocated but the forearm was broken into a swan neck shape. His arm had more angles than an irregular polygon.

Feeling someone's gaze on him, Castiel lifted his own to lock with a pair of blazing green eyes. They were angry; pure, unadulterated anger swam in their dizzying depths. The anger was so intense it knocked Castiel's breath out of him. This man wasn't simply aggravated, annoyed at having probably lost a fight or even disgruntled at his obvious injury, he was a black hole of rage, an abyss with nothing else inside of it but darkness and wrath and it had been that way for a while. Castiel could see it in the set of the man's shoulders and the lines around his eyes. This type of anger had been the norm for him for a long, long time.

How sad...

"You're the doctor I presume?" asked a snide voice to Castiel's right. It was the woman who had claimed to be the manager. She was dressed in a pinstriped pencil skirt and a matching, fitted blazer. Her long brown hair was neat, her eyes were big, cheekbones prominent and, in someone else's opinion, she was perhaps attractive. To Castiel, she was like a snake.

"Uh, Bela, this is Dr. Novak," said Sam. "Dr. Novak, this is Bela Talbot, Rippers' manager, and this is Dean, my brother."

Castiel nodded and moved around Bela without preamble to get to Dean who stared up at him, face unchanging. "May I see your arm?" asked Castiel politely.

"How much is this going to cost?" piped in Bela.

He heard Sam sigh heavily behind him. Dean, on the other hand, didn't make a sound as he lowered his left hand to display his dreadfully damaged arm. Castiel pulled up a chair, eyes narrowing at the lack of bruising. "You're an RH?"

An RH, or a rapid healer, was a person who had the ability to heal a thousand times faster than the regular rate of a normal human being.

"Yeah he –" began Sam

"He isn't a fighter," said Bela quickly. "He works behind the bar."

Sam snorted. "I think we can credit Dr. Novak with a little more intelligence than that Bela."

Castiel straightened up turning to look at the two still standing. "As far as I'm concerned, you can consider me ignorant to everything beyond Dean's immediate injuries. Now, in relation to the damage his arm has suffered, it would be in his best interest to receive hospital treatment –"

"No," said Bela. "No, we can't do that."

Castiel tilted his head. "Dean's injuries are serious." He didn't like referring to Dean as though he wasn't there but the fighter didn't seem to want to talk and something told him Bela would only take control of the conversation anyway. "Being an RH, his body has attempted to heal the broken bone, setting it the way it is, which means I will have to break it again just to put it right. His shoulder-"

"You have pain killers don't you?" snapped Bela. "Or aren't you a real doctor?"

He fought the urge to fire off a retort. "I have types pain relief, certainly, but nothing that will numb his arm to that extent."

"Fucking do it all ready," said a cool voice.

"Dean," sighed Sam. "You need to go to hospital."

"I've already said no," said Bela.

"It's not up to you!" snapped Sam.

"If he still wants a job after this it is!"

With doubtful eyes, Castiel appraised Dean. "It will be excruciatingly painful," he warned. "Do you understand that?"

The anger level in Dean never changed. "I can handle it," he said, his green gaze boring in Castiel's, daring him to deny it.

"You'll be awake throughout the entire procedure," said Castiel, unable to hide the faint disbelief in his voice. "You're an RH. The chances of you passing out are slim –"

"Just do it, Jesus, want do you want? A fucking signed contract? Look, I'll do it my goddamn self!" exclaimed Dean and then, to Castiel's horror, proceeded to shift his leg, raise his arm and slam it down on his knee.

"FUCK!" screamed Dean. The blood curdling snap that followed had Castiel swallowing down bile. Castiel was still staring in total shock when Bela thwacked Dean on the back of the head. "What the hell did you do that for? You could have lost the arm you idiot!"

Dean rolled his eyes, his forehead was glistening with sweat and when he met Castiel's gaze he snorted. "The fuck are you crying for?"

Castiel blinked and touched his face only for his fingers to come away wet. He stared at the moisture in surprise.

"Can you fix his shoulder now? He needs to be back at work in twenty minutes," demanded Bela.

Turning to look at her, he said, "That's impossible. Dean needs rest. He may be an RH but his body needs to recover from the trauma." His voice was rough and shaky which amazed him. In his line of work he had seen more than his fair share of gruesome injuries.

"I won't allow it," said Bela immediately. "I'm paying him to work not sit around."

Castiel's jaw tightened. "Then I refuse to treat him."

Bela was astonished. "What does it matter to you if he rests or not? You're going to get paid, aren't you?"

The door was abruptly thrown open and the bulky man who had left earlier returned. "Bela, we've got a problem."

She threw up a hand in exasperation. "Can't you see I've already got a list of problems to deal with?"

"The cops are here."

"Fuck," she hissed, straightening her suit. "They're here now?"

"At the bar."

Bela nodded and turned to Castiel. "Looks like you've got what you want. He can rest." She looked at Dean and pointed a manicured finger at him. "Don't let the cops catch sight of you or I'll have your head, got it?"

"Whatever," growled Dean. "Go suck them off so don't they don't fine you."

Her only response was to smile unpleasantly. Bela left with her employee and Castiel was alone with Sam and Dean.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "She can be a bit of a bitch," he said as though this was sufficient and acceptable reasoning for the way she had treated Dean.

Castiel didn't say anything. He wanted to leave as soon as possible. Wordlessly, he took Dean's now straight arm with a firm grip. He checked to make sure that it was indeed an anterior dislocation and then proceeded to move it back into place. He bent the fighter's elbow to a ninety degree angle and steadily rotated the arm and shoulder outward. Castiel then held his wrist and pushed. The pop was immediate, an indication that the shoulder had slipped back into the joint. Although it must have been painful, Dean never even flinched.

"Is that it now?" asked Sam as Castiel continued to probe Dean's arm and shoulder.

Castiel sighed. It was difficult not to lose his temper. The amount of pain this fighter must have been in was nothing short of cruel. It didn't make sense to Castiel that Dean would put himself through it and that Sam, a family member, would allow it.

"Preferably I would want to x-ray his shoulder and his arm just to make sure everything has healed the way it should have but I don't suppose you're going to allow me to do that are you?" He wasn't entirely sure who he was addressing. These people seemed to treat Dean like an animal. Like a fighting dog that was incapable of talking for itself.

"No, no, if you, uh, if you think that it's important then I'll persuade Bela to let him have it," said Sam.

Castiel felt Dean's eyes on him. He met them and searched their green depths for answers but there was none to be found, just a cold, angry stare.

"I can only x-ray him at my private surgery," said Castiel removing his card.

"You can't do it here?"

Brow furrowing, Castiel shook his head. "Unfortunately, I don't own a pocket x-ray machine."

Sam forced a laugh. "Yeah... sorry," he replied bashfully and took the offered business card displaying Castiel's address and telephone number.

"Call me anytime," said Castiel, picking up his bag. "The sooner the better."

"Yeah, sure, um, I can pay you at the bar," said Sam.

He headed to the door with the tall gangly man on his tail but before he exited Dean spoke.

"What's your name?"

Castiel turned, looking at Dean curiously. "I'm sorry?"

"What's your name?" he repeated.

"Why do you wish to know?"

Dean snorted contemptuously. "What? You worried about identity theft? Trust me, that..." he gestured to Castiel's entire person, "is safe with you. No one is gonna imitate that, man."

A joke? The doctor's lips twitched. "Castiel," he said.

The fighter nodded, looking away, as though he didn't care and as Castiel drove home that night he thought about Dean and what lay beneath his angry green eyes.

* * *

Six days passed and Castiel fully expected never to hear from the Winchesters again. He felt some regret and concern over Dean's welfare but not enough for him to return to the club and endure Bela Talbot again.

At midday on a dreary Saturday, he was sitting with his best friend, Gabriel, in one of his favourite coffee shops, feeling relaxed and happy after having pushed his stressful week to the back of his mind.

"Therefore given how adamant the staffs' general consensus is on the whole issue, I deduce I'll have to acquiesce to the supervisor's – unfair, in my opinion - request."

Castiel looked up from his crossword puzzle and frowned. "Gabriel, are you talking about the fact that you wore an 'I love cock' t-shirt to work and were asked to change?"

His companion pursed his lips in thought. "I think that's what I said. Is that what I said?"

Castiel squinted. "Why are you talking like a graduate from The School of Pompous Asses?"

Gabriel shrugged, reclining in the plastic chair and peering out of the window at the traffic cruising by at a steady pace. "I'm just trying to speak your language, Cassy."

"You sound like an invalid," muttered Castiel, scratching his rough chin and tapping his pen against the newspaper. No matter how often he shaved he still had stubble; his facial hair was incorrigible. "Crying shame, four letters?"

"How about your sex life?" quipped Gabriel. "If that's not a crying shame I don't know what is." He was rocking back and forth on the chair's spindly legs and Castiel didn't feel any remorse for hoping he would topple over.

"I am not lacking in sexual gratification, Gabriel, and I'll thank you for keeping your nose out of it."

All four legs returned to their flat position with a thud. "Sexual gratification?" exclaimed Gabriel. "With the way you talk it's a wonder even creepy Becky likes you."

Castiel sighed. "Becky is not creepy."

"She's not normal though is she?" said Gabriel with a snort. "Who reads porn at work?"

"That was one occasion and I warned her about it."

"I think you should fire her." And then as an afterthought, he added, "Big John is looking for a job..."

Castiel rubbed his temple. "I am not hiring a stripper just because you dislike my receptionist. Becky is perfectly capable of doing her job."

"She's perfectly capable of stalking you too..."

The door to the cafe opened and a cool breeze ruffled Castiel's hair and tickled his neck. He dragged his gaze away from his crossword to glare at his friend with every purpose of defending Becky when he noticed Gabriel's attention was diverted elsewhere, over Castiel's shoulder.

"Holy shit..." Gabriel whispered, his mouth hanging open in awe.

"What?"

"Two sex gods at nine o'clock."

Castiel didn't even bother turning around. "Why don't you go and work your magic, Romeo?" he murmured and drained the last few swallows of his tea. Brews Brothershad a cheap interior, awful seating and wobbly tables but it also sold the most delicious hot drinks in town and had a wonderful relaxed atmosphere. Its plus points and its familiarity made the Brews Brothersfaults seem more like lovable idiosyncrasies than irritations.

"Hell no... waaay out of my league," breathed Gabriel.

Castiel lowered his cup, staring at Gabriel in disbelief. Never, in all the years that Castiel had known him, had Gabriel lacked confidence and certainly not when it came to any of his conquests. Curiously, Castiel peeked over his shoulder in what he hoped was a subtle gesture. To his intense surprise it was Sam and Dean Winchester.

As usual Dean's face was set in a grimace, every line of his body was rigid and he was hunched over the table, staring at his hands, flexing them, while Sam murmured unheard words to him. Castiel took note of how Dean used his arm and was pleased to see it was moving just fine, the way it was supposed to.

He turned his back on them to find Gabriel looking at him with wide eyes. "Hot or what?!" he whispered.

"That's Sam and Dean Winchester. I treated Dean earlier in the week for a dislocated shoulder."

"No shit! Really?" said Gabriel. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because there's nothing to tell."

"Are you kidding?! They're sex on legs."

"They're handsome," agreed Castiel, returning to his crossword. "A little too tall perhaps."

"Too tall ... shit, Cassy, sometimes I'd swear you were straight."

Castiel didn't justify that with an answer.

"Are they gay?" asked Gabriel quickly.

"I have no idea."

"Shit, they're gorgeous... Especially the one with long hair."

"That's Sam."

"Really? He's so hot," whined Gabriel.

"Indeed," said Castiel. He wrote 'utopia' neatly in the small printed boxes of his crossword puzzle. "Why don't you go and ask him out?" Given Sam's occupation and the things he was associated with, Castiel would have tried to discourage Gabriel from making a move on Sam Winchester but, like all of his friend's conquests they never lasted past a one night stand. Therefore Castiel had no qualms about it.

"I can't do that!" exclaimed Gabriel.

"Why?"

"He might... what if he said no?"

Castiel stared at him incredulously. "This is Gabriel I'm talking to, isn't it? You haven't been possessed by an insecure teenage girl without my knowledge have you?"

"No..." Apparently, it was a day for surprises because Gabriel actually blushed. The pink stain on his cheeks was spreading to his nose and forehead the longer Castiel stared. It was fascinating, like witnessing a penguin flying. A blushing Gabriel simply wasn't an everyday occurrence.

"What's wrong with you?" prodded Castiel. "Why are you embarrassed?" If he was a sensitive soul he would not have asked but he wasn't, nor was he a mind reader. He preferred to have things spelled out for him.

Gabriel ripped a sugar sachet into tiny pieces, eyes shifting to the men and back to Castiel's eyes. "He's gorgeous."

Unforgiving of his friend's obvious discomfort, Castiel's brow rose. "So are most of the men you date."

'Date' was a very loose term for what Gabriel actually did with the men he met but Castiel thought implying his friend was a slut was perhaps unfair given he was already embarrassed.

Incredulous, Gabriel leaned forward. "Are we looking at the same guy?!"

"Yes." Castiel shrugged. "So?"

"You're blind."

"My optician would beg to differ."

When Gabriel didn't answer Castiel lifted his gaze again to find him still staring over his shoulder at the men. Although Castiel would never say it aloud, he thought Gabriel looked quite cute, mooning over a guy like a teenager who had just discovered the joys of masturbation. It made his lips twitch into a small smile. "You really like him." Castiel chuckled. "I can make an enquiry about Dean's arm?" he offered. "And you could come with me?"

Gabriel shook his head, finally dropping his eyes. "No. It's okay."

"If that's what you want," said Castiel as he folded up his newspaper and rose to his feet. "It's probably just as well. They're employees at Rippers."

"Where are you going?" said Gabriel indignantly.

"I have an appointment at two o'clock."

"It's Saturday!"

"They paid double."

"You should only ditch a friend if you're going to get laid!" he shouted across the coffee shop.

Castiel rolled his eyes, swinging the door open. "Goodbye, Gabriel."

He allowed a car to pass before he crossed the street, his mind wandering to his next appointment. The sky above his head was a dull grey and a light, barely there, shower began to fall.

"Dr Novak!"

At the sound of his name, he turned and admittedly wasn't pleased to see Sam Winchester running across the road towards him.

"Mr Winchester," he said as politely as possible.

"Hey, uh, listen, sorry we didn't –"

Castiel held up a hand. "It's fine."

Nodding, Sam rubbed the back of his neck, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Was there something else?" asked Castiel.

Sam released a weighted breath. The tension in his tall frame was obvious. Castiel could feel it from where he was standing like heat from a fire.

"Dean had a pretty brutal fight a couple of days ago. The guy," Sam swallowed, "the guy, um, gouged Dean's eyes out with his thumbs."

Castiel closed his eyes. "Mr Winchester, I don't wish to hear—"

"I know, I know, it's just, look, Dean needs help he needs someone to talk to."

"Then take him to see a therapist."

"He won't talk to anyone and he's got a bad temper... I wouldn't want to..." He looked at Castiel from under his wet bangs. "Dean spoke to you—"

Knowing where the conversation was going, Castiel shook his head. "No, no, he needs a therapist—"

"You're a doctor!"

"I'm not that kind of doctor," said Castiel.

Sam's expression was coloured with desperation. "Please," he begged. "I'm worried it's getting to his head."

"Cage fighting – RH cage fighting – is a brutal sport. There's a reason it's illegal, Mr Winchester. Maybe your brother should consider a different career."

"We, um, we can't... it's complicated," said Sam. "Look, all I'm asking is that you see him say once a week and just... just talk to him. That's all he needs. He just needs someone to talk to who isn't ..." Sam shook his head and wiped the rain from his face. "Please. Please, Castiel."

The doctor stared at him in silent deliberation. Dean was going to be a difficult case. Even if Castiel was a therapist he would have been apprehensive about taking someone like Dean on. His head was a minefield of problems that much was obvious. Not to mention Sam's careful sidestepping of Dean's temper. There was a chance that Castiel could be in danger if he chose to treat Dean. And yet, with all of those things in mind, with all the potential problems that could arise, he still found himself saying, "I'll see him next Saturday at 3pm at my surgery."

Sam nodded quickly, the tension cracking away from his face to reveal a genuine smile. "Thank you, thank you so much. If there's anything I can do just name it."

Castiel was about ready to decline when something occurred to him. He found himself smiling. "Actually there is something you can do..."

* * *

_"You are going to be worshipped forever. Angels are going to kiss your feet."_

"Hello, Gabriel," said Castiel with a small laugh. He was scrolling through a RH forum, on the lookout for something which could help him with Dean next week. There was a surprising amount of information about RH Cage Fighting along with more than enough imagery to go with it. Some RH fighters had been able to regenerate whole limbs. If the photographs hadn't been so sickening Castiel might have been impressed. "I take it Sam asked you out."

_"Hells yeah, he did! Hey, thanks for putting in a good word."_

"Anything to please."

_"Would have been better if you'd said I had a huge cock though just to make me sound all the more impressive."_

"It must have slipped my mind."

Gabriel continued to talk for awhile about the possible length of Sam's penis before Castiel claimed he was just sitting down for dinner and would have to call him back.

The RH forums hadn't been helpful. Even through text Castiel was able to tell that some of the ex-fighters had mental/personality issues. They came across as aggressive and very... alpha male which was fitting since they were like wolves in the ring.

With nothing else to glean from the internet, Castiel shut his computer down and cooked some pasta, wondering how difficult Dean was going to be on Saturday and hoping he hadn't made a serious mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

The next Saturday at ten to three, Sam arrived with Dean trailing reluctantly behind like a scolded dog. Since it was the weekend there was no one else in the surgery but Castiel. He led them through to his office at the back of the building – the practice itself was a small ground floor establishment with Castiel's private flat above it.

He tried to keep his office as comfortable and as homey as possible with plants in the window and even a fish tank on the left hand side of the room. The chairs were squashy and cosy and the general colour scheme consisted of warm tones such as creams, yellows and browns. There was a window behind Castiel's desk overlooking a tiny concrete courtyard with a single Chaste tree that birds liked to nest in.

He loved his surgery. He was proud of it. He had built it up from scratch and gained a good reputation and a healthy income. Why he was risking such a good thing in an effort to help a violent stranger, he wasn't entirely sure. There was something about the Winchesters, however, that touched his heart. He wanted to help, even when he couldn't honestly say that it was a wise decision. The backlash from associating himself with illegal cage fighters could be disastrous.

"Please take a seat, Dean," he said as he sat behind his desk. Castiel didn't think he would appreciate the title 'Mr Winchester'.

The fighter glanced at him and then slumped down in the chair wordlessly. Castiel was curious how Sam had persuaded him to agree to the meetings. Dean didn't strike him as someone who would seek help from others or bow to anyone else's wishes.

"I'll, uh, wait in the car," said Sam, clearing his throat.

"We should be finished in an hour," said Castiel.

When Sam exited, the sound of the door closing was very final. It seemed to intensify the silence in the room.

Before he spoke, Castiel took a moment to watch Dean survey his office. His age was impossible to determine. With his ever renewing cells he could have been over a hundred and he would still have the appearance of someone in their early twenties. There was a naivety about him, it was small yet noticeable, that suggested he was young but there was also a lot of pain, anger and sadness etched into his face that added years. Castiel briefly wondered what Dean looked like when he genuinely smiled.

"What's with the goldfish?" said Dean abruptly.

"You don't like fish?"

Dean shrugged. "Just making conversation. That's what we're here to do, right? Talk?"

"If you don't want to be here, you can leave. I'm not stopping you."

Dean finally met Castiel's gaze head on. He stared openly, confidently and without blinking. In the animal world it would have been a challenge. In Castiel's office it was a test which apparently he failed when he looked away. Or maybe not, thought Castiel as the tension in Dean's shoulders loosened. It was possibly a good thing that Castiel was quite a submissive person. Perhaps Dean had had enough of interacting alpha male types.

"It makes Sam happy," he finally replied.

"Do you do everything your brother asks?"

Dean snorted. "You obviously haven't seen his puppy eyes."

"Actually, I think I have," said Castiel. "I said no to him at first. I wasn't sure these meetings would be a good thing."

"Then why do it?"

"Because I want to help."

"I don't need help. There's nothing wrong with me."

"Your brother seems to think the violence involved in your job is affecting you."

"It isn't."

"How do you know?"

"Well, I'm not crying in the corner like a fucking baby, am I? When I start doing that, great, feed me all the bullshit and medicine you want. 'Till then, thanks, but I'm good as is."

"If there's nothing wrong then you won't mind talking about a few things."

"Like what?"

"How has your week been?"

"Fine."

"Has nothing noteworthy happened?"

"Noteworthy?"

"Interesting?"

"Nope."

"Did you lose any fights?"

Dean's eyes flicked away and Castiel mentally congratulated himself. It was the first crack in Dean's careless facade. "I lost one."

"What happened?"

There was a long silence and then Dean smirked. "I lost."

"How did you lose?" asked Castiel, preparing for the worst. This was the part he had been most uneasy about: the details of Dean's fights. Although it was a predictable subject which he figured was bound to arise, it still required some bracing on his part.

Dean's knee began to bounce. He picked at his nails, shrugging. "He broke my back and stamped on my face 'till the timer was up."

Battling horrendous mental images, Castiel soldiered on. "That must have been extremely painful."

"Hazards of the job." He grinned and it was completely fake.

Castiel didn't return the smile. "And what other hazards are there?"

"Blood. Blood's a bitch to get off your ha—clothes."

The stumble over his wording was obvious but Castiel didn't call him on it. "Anything else?"

"Yep, I don't get dental," said Dean, flashing all of his shiny white teeth.

"You don't need dental insurance."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I know. It was a fucking joke. Jesus, don't you laugh?"

"I do when I find something funny."

The fighter had no response for that. He stuffed his hands in the deep pockets of his leather jacket and looked over at Castiel's bookcase. The silence stretched until it was awkward but he fought the urge to break it; his instincts told him to stay quiet and force Dean to speak. He was very pleased with himself when it worked.

"This guy I used to know, an RH fighter like me, had fucking spikes drilled into his knuckles." Dean laughed. "Thought he was Wolverine."

"Your friend was still allowed to fight with such dangerous alterations?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. He had to rip them out before a match then drill them back in again after. You're not allowed to fuck with the brain in cage fights. A stab to the head would kill an RH outright." He laughed again – another forced chuckle that held no mirth. "No weapons. That's the rule. Don't want any deaths or the cops'll start sniffing around."

"Isn't it possible to kill an RH with only your hands?"

"Oh yeah," said Dean. "You'd have to smash their skull in but that'd take awhile. That's why no one dies in RH cage fights. There isn't enough time."

"Even so... it must be frightening knowing that it could happen."

"No."

"It doesn't scare you? Don't you have any fear of fighting? Of the pain?"

Dean was growing uncomfortable. He hadn't met Castiel's eyes in the past few minutes and he was fidgeting. "Nope. I'm used to it."

"But surely that isn't something that you can easily familiarise yourself with? Pain of that level has got to be difficult to endure no matter how many times it happens."

"It's just pain. Pain can be blocked out."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Of course I'm fucking sure. I know my own head."

"How do you block the pain out?"

"I don't know. I just do."

"Don't you have a method?"

"No."

"What if you can't block it out?"

"I don't know!" snapped Dean, glaring at him. "What the fuck is this? An interrogation? I thought we were supposed to be talking?"

"We are."

"No. I'm talking. You're trying to trick me into saying something I don't want to."

Castiel's eyebrows rose. "I'm not trying to trick you, Dean. I'm trying to understand."

"Well, it's not my fault you don't fucking get it."

"No. It isn't," said Castiel plainly.

Dean stared at the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Although there were still five minutes left of the session, Castiel decided to end it there. He didn't want to push Dean any further than absolutely necessary.

"I think we'll end it here for today. Do you want to come back next week at the same time?"

"Whatever," muttered Dean.

* * *

_"I've scored me a second date!"_

Castiel smiled while stirring his soup. "Sam mustn't have been able to resist your charm."

_"I think so too. Who wouldn't want to date me? I'd date me. Hell, I'd fuck me."_

"Unfortunately, Gabriel, your penis isn't long enough for that."

_"It's a cock not a penis and how would you know?"_

"I know you don't walk strangely," said Castiel, sitting down at his kitchen table and switching the phone into his other hand so he could eat. "I also know that if you did have a penis long enough to have sex with yourself, you wouldn't leave your apartment for weeks." He chuckled. "I'd have to send out a search party."

_"True. How did the thing go?"_

"What thing?"

_"The 'private' session with the other sex god."_

Castiel sighed. "I wish you'd stop air quoting 'private'."

_"What? I'm on the phone! You can't even see me."_

"I can hear it in your voice."

_"And what a beautiful voice I have. I can understand why you would want to listen too closely to it. So how did it go?"_

"As well as to be expected," replied Castiel, thinking back to their conversation earlier in the day. "He's very closed off. Not that I expected any different." He used his spoon to mix some extra herbs into the thick liquid. "He wasn't aggressive."

_"Is that a good thing?"_

"Of course."

_"I don't know about that. Angry sex is the best kind of sex."_

"You're implying I'm going to sleep with Dean."

_"You're not?"_

"Don't be ridiculous Gabriel he's a patient."

_"A sexy patient."_

"I'm not going to sleep with, Dean."

_"You need to sleep with someone before your dick falls off from lack of use."_

"Goodbye, Gabriel."

_"Wait! I wanted to tell you about my new dil—"_

Castiel hung up. The fact that Gabriel had automatically assumed Dean was gay made him wonder if Sam had said something. He knew that Sam was bisexual because Castiel had asked him but he wasn't sure about Dean. Was it unusual for brothers to have the same sexual orientation? His mind travelled along a winding railway track spewing out question after question. Was there homophobia in the cage fighting world? Was Dean 'in the closet', so to speak? For a brief startling second, his mind's eye produced an image of Dean having sex with a faceless man.

Castiel shook his head and took a sip of his soup, grimacing because it had lost its heat. Dean's sexual orientation was completely irrelevant. He needed to focus on the more pressing issues, like the fact that Dean had to tear people apart with his bare hands five days out of the week.

To his right, his phone whistled. He snapped it open to reveal a new text message from a number he didn't recognise.

**Hi, Dr Novak, it's Sam Winchester. I just wanted to say thanks. Dean's pretty calm. Whatever you did today, it's working! He'll see you next week.**

Dean was calm? What on Earth did that mean? What happened when he wasn't calm? The amount of unanswered questions was beginning to irritate Castiel. He didn't like not knowing all of the facts and Sam seemed perfectly happy not to give them to him. The next time Castiel saw Dean he decided he would have to try and delve a little deeper without rocking Dean's tenuous temper. Dealing with Dean was like walking across a tight rope with only a thin pole to balance and no safety net underneath. He could do it, he just needed to be careful.

* * *

"Alright you FUCKERS! This is what you've all been waiting for! The ring just got sexy!" The announcer's voice boomed out of the speakers and vibrated through Castiel's chest. "MASTERS VS HARVELLE!"

The sheer volume of the crowd was deafening, screams and roars from both men and women, as the two fighters took centre stage, rolling their shoulders and spitting, eying each other from separate corners of the ring.

Castiel didn't know what had possessed him to attend one of Dean's fights. He had known it would be a bad idea as soon as he had stepped into the club and yet there he was, watching from the balcony closest to the cage, waiting for Dean's fight to be announced.

The girls currently in the ring were beating each other to a pulp, fists like iron, kicks made of steel; there was no hair pulling or girlish slaps in an RH fight. Harvelle, a blonde slender, youthful woman with a long ponytail, appeared to be winning but Castiel wasn't familiar with the rules of RH cage fighting so he couldn't be sure. From what Dean had said, the sport – if it could be called that – had more in common with wrestling than legal cage fighting. He knew, in order to win, one opponent had to keep the other on the floor by any means necessary for a certain amount of time. The specifics were still unclear to Castiel and although he had assumed otherwise, there were in fact rules that he noticed the girls were often called on. For example, any attack in the vicinity of the eyes and ears was instantly reprimanded but he wasn't sure if that rule applied to this match alone and not others because only two weeks ago Dean had had his eyes gouged out. Castiel shuddered at the thought.

"You," murmured a voice next to his ear, "look like a deer that's just wandered into a lion's den."

Castiel whirled around and came face to face with an unsmiling Dean Winchester. His heart was pounding from the shock of having been spoken to so intimately. "Dean," he said, putting a hasty gap between them, his lower back bumping into the railing. He tried to compose himself but he was breathless. There was a startling difference, he noticed, in being prepared to talk to Dean and having him suddenly appear.

Dean wasn't smiling. "What are you doing here?" He was shirtless, wearing a pair of long shorts, black with a red stripe down the side. His knuckles were wrapped in a rough black tape and his stance was predatory. Clearly, he was next in the ring.

Tearing his gaze away from Dean's muscled chest, Castiel forced himself to focus. He had been thrown horribly off balance. "I-I thought it would be important to experience one of your fights."

Dean's expression was so static for a minute Castiel doubted he had been heard. "You thought wrong. You need to leave."

"This is a public place. I can do as I please," stated Castiel.

Their gazes were locked, drawn like magnets. As he had many times before, Castiel wondered what was going on behind Dean's green eyes. What was he thinking about?

Finally, Dean looked away, somewhere over Castiel's shoulder. "Don't talk to anyone," he said and with no further explanation he left. Castiel watched him walk away, his heart still trying to beat its way out his ribcage.

* * *

It was minutes, practically seconds, into the fight and Castiel was swallowing down bile. He had to concede that Dean might have been right about leaving. The girls' fight had been terrible to watch but Dean's was simply brutal. There was no holding back. Dean and his opponent, a heavy set man a few inches shorter, attacked each other like beasts. Twice Castiel had seen one of the fighters casually reset their nose after it was mashed into their skull. Blood coated the ring. The floor was slick with it and they slipped and skidded on the liquid like a pair of mud wrestlers.

Again Castiel asked the question: why would anyone subject themselves to this?

He tried to understand, get a gauge on their bloody expressions but there was nothing to see just anger and malice. Despite the violence and the urge to throw the contents of his stomach up, Castiel watched intently, waiting for something, anything to help him understand Dean. Maybe a smile to show that he enjoyed it, a look of regret, reluctance.

With impressive strength Dean threw the larger man onto his back. He raised his foot, preparing to stomp on his throat, breaking the neck, and there it was, the thing Castiel had been waiting for: Dean hesitated. It was a minuscule pause, not enough for him to lose the fight or to even be picked up on by the rest of the crowd, but it was there. Dean's foot connected with the man's neck and a crack resounded over the volume of the music.

* * *

On Saturday Dean arrived alone and they sat in Castiel's office as before. As soon as the doctor was settled, he looked up to find Dean scrutinizing him. "Learn anything?" the fighter said not without sarcasm.

"I've seen worse," Castiel lied.

"Sure you have," said Dean.

"I've seen a lot of injuries in my time."

Dean threaded his fingers together and rested them on his stomach. He was slumped in the chair assessing Castiel through empty eyes. "Why bother lying? I know it fucked with your head."

Castiel didn't answer.

"Bet you couldn't sleep that night."

"No," said Castiel. "I'll admit I had trouble falling asleep." He had tossed and turned, images of blood, screaming and death rolling around in his restless mind.

Dean nodded, laying his head back and looking up at the blank ceiling. "Most people with a soul do."

What a curious statement, thought Castiel. His eyebrows drew together. "Most people with a soul? What do you mean?"

"Rippers is like... hell. Full of the soulless and the damned."

When Castiel didn't answer, Dean glanced at him and smirked. "Haven't you seen them? They just scream, egging us on to rip each other's faces off." Dean picked at his nails. "They're pathetic. Who would pay to watch that?"

"You're paid to do it," Castiel pointed out. "Isn't that the same thing?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I don't have a choice."

Castiel sat forward hopefully. Dean seemed very subdued; there was a good chance he was going to be a little more open. "And why is that?"

"Debts to be paid," he replied. "_Big_ fucking debts to be paid."

So Dean was being forced to fight. Castiel made a mental note of it and then tapped his fingers lightly on the table. Should he ask for more details on the debt? Making a quick list of pros and cons he decided not to. Why Dean was doing it was not necessarily a pressing issue. However, Dean's state of mind was. The fact that he was being forced to fight explained his hesitance in the ring. It was good that Dean wasn't doing it for the sheer fun of it. If he had there would have been much more deeply rooted problems to address.

"Do you have any hobbies, Dean?" asked Castiel.

"Why would I? Breaking backs is so much fun."

Ignoring the derision, Castiel continued. "Is there anything you enjoy doing? Maybe something that relaxes you?"

"Nope. I'm a hollow shell of a man," sang Dean and he laughed bogusly. "That's what you're thinking, right?"

"On the contrary, I think you're very expressive."

Dean frowned. "Jesus, you make me sound like some mentally challenged freak."

Castiel failed to see how. "Would you prefer emotional rather than expressive?"

"I'd prefer it if you stopped labelling me."

"I'm not labelling you, I'm describing you."

"Then stop describing me." There was absolutely no bite to Dean's words. In fact, there was something playful around Dean's eyes that Castiel had never seen before. It made him smile.

"Why?" asked Castiel. "I'm not insulting you."

"You wouldn't like it if I 'described' you."

Castiel sat back, a chuckle rising inside of him. "By all means, go ahead. Describe me."

Running his tongue over his teeth, Dean appraised Castiel and smirked. "Alright. You're a—"

"Remember," interrupted Castiel, "I didn't insult you."

"The truth can be hard to take sometimes," said Dean, lips tilting.

Castiel matched the smile. "I gave you a compliment, a quality, not a fault."

"What a girl." Dean sighed exaggeratedly. "Can't take your faults like a man?"

"I was only pointing out what was fair. If you allow me to list yours, then you can list mine."

Dean's eyes narrowed, smirk still in place, and he leaned forward, elbows on the mahogany desk separating them. "What if I haven't got any faults?"

"Oh, I assure you, you have."

"Maybe my faults are also my qualities?"

"An example would be?"

Dean grinned and it wasn't as false as the others had been. "My—"

The door was thrown open and Becky flew inside. Her pink t-shirt was stained with red and she was waving her arms and hands like a panicked chicken. "DR NOVAK!" she screamed.

"Becky, what—"

"She's DYING! She just stepped out into the middle of the road. I mean, who does that?! I braked, I mean, _of course_ I braked but I've just got my car back from the repair shop and they said there was something whacky going on with my brakes but I just thought they were trying to get me to spend more money and I was out of pocket anyway because of my sister's boyfriend's aunt's dog's birthday and diamond collars? EXPENSIVE! So I –"

"Becky, stop!" shouted Castiel. "Calm down and explain to me exactly what happened."

His receptionist took a shuddering breath and exhaled. "I ran over someone. I knew you were in the surgery today so I brought her in. She's in the waiting room. I asked her if she wanted some tea while she waited, you know, like we usually do? But she just said no and then _collapsed_ and I didn't know what to do so..." She flapped her arms. "Here I am."

"She collapsed?" said Castiel, rising to his feet. "Did you phone an ambulance?" He didn't check to see if Dean was following or staying put.

"Err... no, I didn't, I –"

"Phone an ambulance," insisted Castiel as they walked into the waiting area. His stomach dropped when he saw a shock of red hair. "Anna!" He fell to his knees beside his sister, checking her pulse. It was steady. "Anna, look at me." He scanned her body for any serious injuries but other than a few smears of blood on her hands and knees there was nothing. Castiel looked up at Becky and the stain on her t-shirt. "Whose blood is that?"

"Huh?" She stared at him utterly clueless.

"The blood! Whose blood is on your t-shirt!"

"Ohhh, no, this is tomato juice. I bought some at the store – you know the one next to that weird building with the blue roof that kind of looks like it's going to fall down any second but doesn't? I mean it's been there_forever _and... wooww..." She said once she spotted Dean moving into the room. "You're like really pretty."

Dean wasn't paying any attention to her. He was frowning at Anna. "I've seen that before," he said.

A question on his tongue, Castiel returned his focus to his sister. There were thin streams of blood dripping from her nose and ears and suddenly the diagnosis was clear. He expelled a sigh of relief. "Her brain haemorrhaged."

"And that's good?" said Dean, incredulous.

"I thought it was something more life threatening," replied Castiel. Gently, he shook his sister's willowy arm. "Anna, can you hear me?"

"Okay, I'm no doc but I thought a brain haemorrhage was a _bad_ thing?" said Dean.

"It is," said Castiel and smiled when Anna's eyes fluttered open. "For a normal person but Anna is an RH." His eyes lifted to Dean's. "Like me."


	3. Chapter 3

"I am too!" exclaimed Becky, clapping her hands.

They all stared at her.

"Okay... I'm not," she corrected. "But I _could_ have been!" Her eyes were wide with unstrained excitement. Every day she acted and spoke as though she was a child on Christmas morning. Castiel found it baffling. There was too much energy crammed into her tiny frame.

"Figures," said Dean. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he leant against the door jam. "You look way too young to be talking like you do."

"What's wrong with the way I speak?" said Castiel as he helped Anna to her feet.

"Nothin'," said Dean. "You just sound like a forty year old virgin."

Castiel's eyebrows flew up and Anna chuckled softly. He looked at her. "You agree?!"

"You do sound older than you are, Castiel," she replied and then winced. "I need to sit down for awhile. I have a bad headache."

He guided her into one of the squishy waiting room chairs and asked Becky to fetch a glass of water and a damp cloth. He touched Anna's warm forehead. "You'll be fine in a few minutes," he said and measured her pulse. "Your body has repaired what it needs to."

"So... what happened? Her brain exploded?" asked Dean, glancing at Becky when she brushed past him. Anna gratefully took the offerings from the receptionist and dabbed the blood from her nose and neck.

"A brain haemorrhage is bleeding on or in the brain," explained Castiel. "It's usually caused by a burst artery and that makes the brain swell. In normal people it can lead to a stroke and even death but because Anna is a rapid healer, her body has repaired the artery and expelled the excess blood before any permanent damage could be done."

"An RH can do that?" said Dean sceptically.

"Rapid healing isn't limited to stitching up broken skin and cracked bones. It's a complex survival mutation."

"Evolution at its finest," murmured Anna and Castiel gave her a smile.

"And RHs are easily aroused!" breathed Becky.

Where did she get this information? "Becky, that isn't true—" began Castiel.

"Yes it is, Dr Novak! It's been proven. Rapid healers have a high sex drive." She giggled and Castiel finally understood why Gabriel found her creepy. "That's why characters in my fan fictions are always RHs." She sighed happily, staring off into the distance with a somewhat glazed look on her face.

Dean's repulsed expression was comical. "Wow," he said. "Yeah, I'm gonna go."

While Becky filled Anna in on the finer details of her stories, Castiel followed Dean out into the narrow hallway lain with wooden slats. Dean raised a brow when Castiel opened the door for him. "Feeling guilty?" asked the fighter as he trotted down the three stone steps and turned to look up at him. The sun was out. Its bright rays highlighted the golden colours in Dean's dirty blonde hair and, because he was looking up at Castiel, his large green eyes were vivid against the backdrop of his summer kissed skin.

"Why would I be feeling guilty?" said Castiel.

"You never told me you were an RH."

Castiel smiled. "One in every ten thousand is an RH. It isn't that rare."

"You're the first I've met who isn't a fighter," said Dean.

"What about your brother?"

"No. Sammy's just a regular guy," he replied and his lips curved into a beautiful, authentic smile. No sarcasm and no mockery hidden behind it.

Castiel chuckled, admiring the shape and tilt of his lips and how the smile looked on Dean's face. He decided he wanted to see more of it. "Gabriel will be pleased. He's very vain. He wouldn't like it if his boyfriend didn't visibly age while he did."

Much to the dismay of every beautiful vain woman and man in the world, it was impossible to reproduce the RH mutation or, more specifically, the ability to perpetually produce collagen, keeping the skin elastic and wrinkle free. Contrary to popular belief, rapid healers were not immortal; they could die of diseases such as cancer and sometimes infections and severe injuries. It all depended on how advanced the RH mutation was for that particular person and how far the body would go to survive. Castiel wasn't sure what level his mutation was because he had never had a serious enough injury to test it. The fact that Anna had survived a brain haemorrhage, however, led him to believe that they were both quite advanced.

"Boyfriends? Is that what they are?" asked Dean. He had an intriguing expression on his face, one Castiel couldn't hope to read.

"I believe so."

Dean bobbed his head and kicked a stone off the tiny paved walkway. "I'd better go."

"Will I see you next week?" asked Castiel.

"Probably," said Dean over his shoulder. "If I survive my next match."

"Dean," rebuked Castiel. "You shouldn't say that."

He laughed. "Don't worry. I'm hard to kill."

* * *

Anna was persuaded to stay with Castiel for a few days after her injury. He wasn't worried about her per say, he simply wanted to keep her close just in case there were any health issues to address. He only had one bedroom, which he gave to Anna, so he had to sleep on the sofa but he didn't mind. He hadn't seen her in awhile and it was nice to have company in his small apartment.

On Thursday morning, during breakfast, Anna asked about Dean. It was the first time she had acknowledged him since his presence on Saturday and Castiel was surprised she hadn't mentioned him before then.

"I suppose I'm counselling him," he said. The eggs on his plate were overdone because he had been distracted while cooking, thinking about Dean. Dean's profession was beginning to bother him more and more and it didn't help that he had witnessed a fight first hand. His comments about surviving his next match had been intended as a joke but it had still troubled Castiel. Of course Dean was hard to kill but it wasn't impossible to kill him and what if he did die? What then?

It angered Castiel. RH cage fighting was wrong. Pure and simple. If it wasn't already illegal he would have petitioned to make it so.

A chuckle snapped him from his reverie like an elastic band. Anna was smiling at him from the other side of the table. "You're very distracted," she noted.

"Am I?"

"Is it Dean?"

Castiel sighed and pushed his plate away. He didn't even attempt to lie. "Yes."

She nodded like she had already known. "You have feelings for him."

"No!" he exclaimed perhaps too exuberantly.

Anna's eyes were dubious.

"I don't," he insisted and it was true, he didn't. "I... His profession isn't the most legal," Castiel said vaguely. "And it bothers me."

"I see..." She paused. "Don't take this the wrong way, Castiel, but you've never struck me as an amateur vigilante." He pulled a face and she laughed. "What I mean to say is, you've never been bothered by illegal activities before so why are you now?"

"Because it's dangerous," murmured Castiel.

"You're worried about his safety?"

"I suppose I am."

"Then you should tell him."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Castiel, standing up and taking their plates away.

"Yes, because telling someone how you feel is _completely_ ridiculous isn't it?"

"When the "someone" you're referring to is Dean Winchester? Then yes it is."

* * *

Before Castiel's appointment with Dean, he went to meet Gabriel in their favourite coffee shop and was surprised to find Sam sitting next to him.

"Hello," said Castiel when he sat down across from them with a piping hot tea and Sam smiled hesitantly, giving him an odd tiny wave.

Gabriel cackled. "Look at baby, Sammy! He's feeling awkward and embarrassed."

Grimacing, Sam played with a sugar packet, keeping his eyes lowered. "Shut up, Gabe."

"It's going well then?" said Castiel, chuckling. He had been extremely surprised that Gabriel and Sam had lasted more than a day and judging by the look of pure happiness on Gabriel's face it seemed Sam was there to stay. He was happy for them. Granted he had been unsure at the start but Gabriel was truly happy and there was no way Castiel could condemn that.

"Oh, yeahhh," said Gabriel. "We're fucking like bunnies."

Sam's face flooded with red. "Gabriel!"

"What?" he replied innocently. Patting his boyfriend's hand, he added, "Do you want me to gush about your huge manhood?"

"Oh dear lord kill me now," breathed Sam, covering his face with his hands.

"I think we can spare Sam that embarrassment, Gabriel," said Castiel though he had to admit, Sam's mortification was funny. "How is Dean?"

"He's okay I guess," said Sam, his face still the shade of a beetroot. "He smashed up his Impala on Tuesday because he lost a fight." Sam sighed. "He's not happy about that."

"An Impala is...?"

"A car," supplied Sam.

"It's not a cock, Cassy," said Gabriel unhelpfully.

"Yes, I gathered, thank you. Why was he so angry about losing a fight? He's lost matches before."

Sam's lips thinned into a tight line. "There was...uh, a lot of money riding on the fight. Betting slips and stuff..."

Castiel had to wonder how much money Dean owed. If he was being forced to do something he clearly hated, it had to be an awful lot.

Not wanting to deny Gabriel his allotted time to gloat about his new boyfriend and embarrass him all over again, Castiel guided the conversation away from Dean. They conversed for a good hour before Castiel had to leave. He was pleased that Sam had loosened up and was taking Gabriel's embarrassing revelations in his stride even hitting back with some of his own. Bidding them goodbye, he made his way over to his surgery, wondering what type of mood Dean was going to be in.

* * *

As it turned out, it was a self destructive one. They had greeted each other politely enough and had been sitting down for less than five seconds when, to Castiel's horror, Dean began to promptly snap the bones in his own fingers one by one.

"What are you doing?!" exclaimed Castiel, throwing himself over the desk to stop the sickening cracks.

Dean jerked away from him. "Relax, Jesus, they'll heal again."

"But you're hurting yourself!" cried Castiel.

Dean shrugged. "It helps to take my mind off things."

Castiel didn't even want to _begin_ to think about what that meant for Dean's mind if he thought destroying himself was the best method of distraction.

"Look," said Dean wriggling his now straight fingers. "I've put them right again. Good as new."

Scowling, Castiel moved around the desk to stand before Dean, holding out his hand, palm up. "Let me feel them. I need to make sure the bones are straight."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Now!" demanded Castiel.

Reluctantly, Dean slapped his hand in the doctor's and Castiel took a moment to mentally pat himself on the back. He hadn't expected Dean to let him.

With his forefinger and his thumb he gently rubbed and squeezed each of Dean's digits, feeling for any abnormalities. Fortunately, Dean had been right. The bones were straight and just as perfect as before. Dean was lucky to be such a high level rapid healer or he could have done some serious damage.

Just as Castiel was double checking his middle finger, the pad of it slipping into the groove where it met Dean's palm, he heard the sound of someone's breath catching. Castiel looked up and was startled to see Dean's eyes were closed and his lips were parted slightly. His breaths were deep and shaky and all Castiel could do was stare. He was at a loss of what to think or say.

Obviously feeling the sudden lack of movement, Dean's lids flew open and pink swirled high in his cheeks. He snatched his hand back quickly and Castiel felt the loss like a physical ache.

"Told you they were fine," muttered Dean, turning away.

Castiel licked his dry lips. "Yes, you were right. I'm sorry."

* * *

"Hello, Sam. It's Castiel."

_"Oh, hey, sorry I can't really talk right now. I'm at work."_

"Yes... I-I assumed you would be. I'll only take a moment of your time. I just wanted to ask something. About Dean."

_"Okay,"_ said Sam slowly. _"What is it?"_

"Is Dean in a... a relationship of any kind?"

There was a notable pause. _"Uh... not that I know of. Why?"_

"He doesn't..." Castiel cringed internally, "sleep around?"

_"No, he spends most of his time with me or alone."_

"I see."

_"Castiel, what's this about? Is there something wrong with Dean?"_

"No, no, everything is fine. I was curious. That's all."

_"Sure, um, look I've got to go. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"_

Castiel bid him goodbye and sank into the soft leather of his office chair, swiping a thumb over his lips thoughtfully. Last Saturday, he had suspected Dean's reaction to being touched had been a cry for attention. Someone who had only known violence and nothing else for any extended amount of time would be starved of affection. It had shocked him to learn that Dean didn't actively seek it out with any random warm body he could find. By no means was Dean unattractive. He would have no problems finding a willing date and yet he didn't even try.

During the week Castiel had been thinking up ways of touching Dean without it seeming deliberate. If Castiel could give him some of the affection and attention he so obviously craved then maybe it would help him cope with his horrendous job.

The door bell sang through the empty surgery and Castiel rose to his feet to answer it. "Good afternoon, Dean," he said politely upon opening the door.

"Doc," replied Dean with a lazy salute.

They moved into Castiel's office and took their usual seats.

"How are you?" asked Castiel.

"Fine."

"Have you had a better week?" Last Saturday they had talked a little about the fight he had lost but most of it was spent with Dean dancing around the subject and he had absolutely refused to discuss breaking his fingers. It certainly hadn't been the most productive week of Castiel's life.

"I guess."

"Has nothing of interest happened since we last met?"

"No."

Castiel's brow furrowed. Either Dean was distracted or he was purposely avoiding conversation. It wasn't the first time it had happened but Castiel had assumed there had been some improvement in their relationship and that Dean would at least humour him with conversation even if he wasn't in the mood.

"Would you like to learn a method of relaxation?" offered Castiel.

"Whatever."

When Dean was like this, immoveable and stubborn, it was like trying to soften stone with his bare hands. Castiel stood up and Dean's eyes snapped to his, mirroring a dog that had scented a rabbit. "What're you doing?" demanded Dean when the doctor drew near.

"May I have your hand?"

"Why?"

"I want to show you how to relax."

"I don't need to relax. I'm fine."

"Everyone needs to relax sometimes," said Castiel patiently. He leant his backside on the desk, standing before him, and held out his hand. "Please?"

Dean grumbled under his breath and thrust out his right hand. Carefully, as if it was made of glass, Castiel enclosed it in both of his. There was a glowing blush already colouring Dean's face and he was pointedly looking away in the opposite direction.

Well, thought Castiel, at least he was allowing me to touch him.

He stroked his fingers along Dean's palm and he watched in fascination as, once again, Dean's eyes slipped closed. Keeping his voice as lulled as possible, Castiel murmured, "Between your thumb and your index finger is a pressure point." He gently rubbed the indicated area. "There are pressure points all over the body and massaging these places can relieve tension and help you to relax. If done correctly it can even alleviate headaches, colds and back pain." He slipped his fingers down the line of Dean's smallest digit and pressed in the space where his wrist met his palm. He squeezed and rubbed, applying just the right amount of pressure. Too much and it would hurt, too little and it wouldn't be enough.

Castiel continued moving from point to point deciding he would only stop when and if Dean asked him to and gradually bit by bit the tension leaked out of Dean's stiff frame, his breaths became slow and even and the hard, angry lines marring his handsome face disappeared. Castiel's hands moved robotically while he watched Dean fall asleep.

Stripped of the sarcasm, the anger and the sadness, Dean was beautiful. His jaw was strong, his lips were plump and pink and his eyelashes, which were casting feather soft shadows on his high cheek bones, were long and almost feminine. Dean had a strong yet elegant body; it was a pity he had to tear it apart every day.

Sighing, Castiel untangled their hands and returned to his desk, picking up a well used book off the shelf as he went. He opened it up at the first page, settled down to read and waited for Dean to wake.

* * *

Three chapters into _The God Delusion_, he had the peculiar sensation that someone was watching him. Castiel lifted his eyes and his stomach flipped when they met Dean's. How long had he been awake?

"I fell asleep, huh?" slurred Dean.

Castiel checked the old fashioned clock on the wall above the door. "For a little over an hour and a half." The time had flown by. He could get sucked into the pages of a book and escape reality for hours; it was one of his few methods of relaxing because his brain never stopped whirring.

Chuckling softly, Dean rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. "Surprised you didn't throw me out on my ass."

"Why would I do that? You fit in well with the rest of my furniture," replied Castiel playfully. "How do you feel?"

"Good," Dean smiled. "Really good. I've had this..." he waved a hand, "headache for a couple of days. Haven't been able to sleep." He yawned hugely and stretched his arms above his head, resting them on the back of the chair. His legs were spread and there was a thin strip of taut abdomen on display.

Castiel had to beat down an unexpected surge of want. Studiously ignoring the pleasant warming down below, Castiel marked his page and set the book aside. "Do you often find it difficult to sleep?" he asked, trying not to make it obvious that he was having trouble meeting Dean's eyes.

"Nah," he replied and finally he dropped his arms. "Just when I'm stressed out."

"You've been stressed?"

"Yeah. A bit. Bela's been up my ass all week." Castiel assumed he meant figuratively. "She's still pissed that I lost last Tuesday's fight."

"Do you like Bela?"

Dean snorted, scratching his jaw. "She's a complete bitch but she does what she's supposed to."

"Which is?"

He smirked. "Pay me and keep the cops busy."

"So it isn't Bela you're indebted to?"

The smirk disappeared; it was replaced with a look of hesitation. "No..." His eyes flicked over Castiel's face. As if he found security in what he saw, he continued, "No. It's Sam's debt. He got into a load of crap a year ago with a chick called Ruby. She screwed him over big time and skipped town leaving Sam up to his ears in debt." He grimaced. "Bitch might as well have painted a target on the back of his head."

It wasn't too far from what Castiel had already assumed though the fact that it was Sam's debt and not Dean's came as a surprise.

"I take it your brother is indebted to... unsavoury characters?"

"Unsavoury?" said Dean with a mirthless laugh. "These guys don't even know what a moral compass is. They're ruthless enough to burn down a freakin' puppy factory and smart to never get caught."

Castiel speculated whether Dean was referring to one of the two gangs in the area. There were other lesser known criminal syndicates but the ones most likely to grace the news were those Castiel had heard of and worked with. He was a private doctor – an experienced one – and didn't ask questions; he was the perfect medic for casualties who weren't keen on visiting the hospital. Those avoiding the law also paid handsomely and in cash.

Through his work he had gained a reluctant sort of respect from Crowley's mob – a fifty strong crew keen on petty crime and fixed bets. Castiel didn't mind them. They never did anything particularly cruel except steal gross amounts of money from rich men.

The other mob, however, was on another level of brutality entirely and was by far the worst.

With trepidation, Castiel said, "Are you talking about a mob?" At Dean's nod, he added, "Which one?"

"The Pellegrino mob."

Castiel winced, causing Dean to laugh. "I know. Fuck. Believe me I know," groaned the fighter.

"The Pellegrino family are..."

"Bastards? Dicks? Cruel fuckers?"

"Well, yes," said Castiel rubbing his temple. He had a sudden throbbing headache. "I apologise for putting this so bluntly but how have you managed to stay alive this long?"

The Pellegrino family were notorious loan sharks and late payments came at a price: death.

"It wasn't easy but I made them a deal. I said I'd get them twenty thousand bucks every week for a year and in return they spare Sam's life."

"That's over a million dollars!"

"Yup," said Dean. "The debt was only forty three thousand to begin with."

"How can you possibly afford it?"

"Cage fighting," said Dean with a shrug. "I put bets on myself. That's why I _have_ to win."

Castiel couldn't believe what he was hearing. The amount of pressure Dean must have been under was impossible to imagine. To have that on his mind, his brother's _life_ on his shoulders and to have to go out every night and be torn apart... What an indescribable torment.

"Dean, that's a heavy rope you have around your neck," said Castiel despairingly.

Dean clicked his tongue. "Don't I fucking know it?" He forced a smile. "I'm a dead man walking."

They stared at each other from across the desk. Castiel could feel the pity and concern creasing his face, the worry was radiating from him, and yet Dean's faux smile remained the same. It was only his eyes that revealed how he was really feeling. Castiel saw every ounce of dread in his gaze and he wished with all his heart that he could take it away.

* * *

It was absolutely ludicrous.

Returning to Rippers with the intent of watching Dean fight again was a moronic idea. He couldn't believe he had convinced himself to do it. The problem was, he hadn't been able to get Dean out of his mind. He had been worried about him since the moment he had left the surgery and hadn't managed to make it through Monday without checking to see if all was well.

He was standing in the exactly the same place he had been before, hoping to see Dean before he went into the ring.

The fight before Dean's was over and there was the usual break in proceedings while the stage was swept clean of blood and the audience placed any last minute bets.

Just as he was thinking he had missed Dean, a voice whispered in his ear. "You know, if I didn't know better I'd say you had a sadistic streak."

Castiel literally shuddered with pleasure. Fighting the urge to lean back in what he knew would be Dean's bare chest, he turned around.

As expected, Dean was naked from the waist up again but this time he was smiling. "What are you doing here, doc?"

Castiel's cheeks were hot and his palms were sweaty. He didn't know what it was - the closeness, how little Dean was wearing, the heat, the music, the dim lighting - but in gruesome enclosure of Rippers' walls Castiel's lust soared sky high. Maybe it was because he was no longer in a doctor patient scenario. He was whoever he wanted to be.

Licking his lips, he said, "There's no need to call me doc, I'm not working."

Dean's eyes narrowed and his smile turned into a smirk. "Sorry," he pointed to his ear, "I didn't hear you."

Castiel repeated it louder but Dean just shook his head. "Nah, see..." he stepped forward right into Castiel's personal bubble, pushing him back against the railing until they were almost touching. Dean gripped the metal either side of Castiel's waist and leaned in. "You have to get closer," he murmured. His breath brushed the soft skin of his ear. Shamefully, Castiel's cock began to harden and from so little attention! How embarrassing.

"I-I said..." stuttered Castiel. His cheek brushing Dean's was very distracting. "I said you don't need to call me doctor, I'm not working."

Dean leaned back and grinned. "Ohh, right. What should I call you then?"

"Cas-Castiel?" Damn his stutter! Damn his pathetic attraction!

"Cas Castiel?" teased Dean. "I think I'll call you Cas. It's easier, yeah?"

"Winchester!" someone shouted to their right. "You're up, man."

Dean gave a thumbs up to whoever had spoken and turned back to Castiel with soft eyes. "Do yourself a favour, Cas. Go home. You don't want to see this." Dean's name was called again and Castiel didn't have time to answer before the fighter left his side.

He watched Dean's fight but he didn't regret it because, once it was over, he knew that Dean was alive and he hadn't been seriously injured. The knowledge was enough to help him sleep that night.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel scrutinized the wound with an expert eye. His patient was a sixty four year old retired bricklayer who had managed to fall off a ladder and slice away a large quantity of flesh from his leg, exposing his tibia. It was the kind of injury hospital emergency rooms were made for and yet his patients still preferred to seek help from Castiel. He wasn't complaining - he felt complimented that they considered him trustworthy - and he had all the necessary equipment to deal with severe injuries but there was a longer waiting time than there would have been at a hospital which was why Castiel found it odd. Perhaps they preferred how personal the service was in a privately owned clinic, he pondered. Whatever the case, he was glad he was never short of clients.

"I think the best course of action would be to take an x-ray and then clean and stitch up the wound. There doesn't seem to be anything we need to worry about."

"Other than the fact I'm missing part of my leg," said the man gruffly.

Castiel chuckled. "Well, yes, apart from that." He wheeled his chair over to the computer and started up his quaint little x-ray machine.

In total, on the ground floor, there were two examination rooms, one office, one waiting room and a restroom. The examination rooms were the only areas of the surgery which were clinical and sterilised but, of course, they had to be.

"If you would like to get behind the screen," said Castiel, helping the man to his feet. "And I'll take an x-ray."

As the doctor sat down again behind the protective glass, there was an excitable knock at the door to which Castiel answered, "Come in."

"Dr Novak," said Becky breathlessly. She was pulling that strange over enthusiastic expression again which made Castiel think twice about Gabriel's stalker theory. "Mr Winchester is here to see you!"

Castiel's heart skipped a beat. "Mr Winchester? Which," he cleared his throat, "which one?"

Becky grinned goofily. "Dean Winchester."

Although Castiel had the most powerful urge to squeal like a child who had just received a mountain of candy and dance on the table in a thoroughly unprofessional manner, his voice remained as calm as ever when he replied. "Please tell him to wait and I'll be with him as soon as I can."

Slow and steady, he x-rayed, cleaned and stitched up his patient's leg. He had to force himself to work carefully. The temptation to rush through it so he could see Dean sooner was nearly overwhelming.

Once he had finished, he followed his patient out and through to the waiting room where Dean was sprawled in the seating area, feet up with a magazine over his face. Castiel hid a smile. He had made Dean wait not less than two hours and he still hadn't left.

Sitting down on the low table beside the dozing fighter, Castiel plucked the magazine off his face and Dean jerked in surprise.

"What seems to be the problem, Mr Winchester?"

Through squinty, sleepy eyes Dean peered up at him. "Do you usually keep your patients waiting this long?"

"Only the ones I like," replied Castiel, not bothering to fight his grin any longer. He held out a hand and pulled Dean upright.

"You like me, huh?" He gave Castiel a cheeky smile. "That's good to know."

"You're not completely awful," said Castiel. Excitement and anticipation were thrumming through his veins. They were standing almost as close as they had been at the club. One step nearer and Castiel would be able to touch him, be able to feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart and smell his clean natural scent obscured by soap and leather.

He hadn't realised they had been staring at each other silently until Castiel heard a whispered, "Awww..." to his left.

Unsurprisingly, their audience was Becky. She was clutching a fax between her hands, holding it close to her face and beaming at the pair of them.

Heat flushed his cheeks and Castiel awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, stepping away. "If you would like to follow me, Dean," he said. If she wasn't so efficient, loyal and trustworthy, Castiel would have seriously considered getting a new receptionist. However, Becky did everything he could possibly ask for and she never let him down. Except, maybe, when she ran over his sister, accidentally photocopied her face, emailed a picture of Mr Uriel's toe to his dentist and read porn in the waiting room and left it lying around for poor, unsuspecting Miss Mosely to pick up and leaf through. Becky had her faults but who didn't?

"Your receptionist is creepy," Dean whispered next to his ear as they walked down the hallway to his office. Castiel's skin tingled where Dean's breath had ghosted over it. The knowledge that Dean was behind him and so close, had his stomach somersaulting. He almost considered stopping suddenly and "accidentally" –

"Oof!" Dean fell into the back of him, hands jumping to Castiel's shoulders. "Why'd you stop?" said Dean and he let go much too quickly.

Castiel's attraction really had spiralled out of control if a second of body contact from Dean gave him so much pleasure. "I'm sorry, I stumbled," he shamelessly lied. Embarrassing though it might have been, the feel of Dean's hips bumping into Castiel's ass had been worth it.

How pathetic.

Castiel sighed - he needed to start dating.

"How can I help?" he asked when he sat down at his desk.

Shrugging out of his leather jacket, Dean said, "My arm's fucked," and rolled up his sleeve.

"Did you break it again?" asked Castiel, frowning disapprovingly. He took the offered arm in his hands, eyes roaming over the tan, beautiful skin for any signs of damage.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Cas, someone breaks my arm pretty much every day. No, there's something-"

"What's that?" interrupted Castiel quickly. He pushed against the skin and a foreign, hard object slipped under the pad of his thumb.

"That's what I'm talking about," said Dean.

Castiel moved it, pushing and prodding it. It was jagged. Sharp. He ran his fingers over the rest of Dean's forearm feeling for anything else when he came across another piece and another.

"I'll have to x-ray your arm," muttered Castiel, more to himself than to Dean.

"Hey, it's not like..." Castiel looked up when Dean hesitated. His brows were creased with worry. "It's not anything alive right? 'Cause I saw this fucking weird program about this guy who had a fucking _spider_ living under his skin! It laid eggs, man. Fucking EGGS!"

Castiel pressed his lips together. It wouldn't do to laugh at a patient. "I think I can safely say that it isn't a spider. In fact I have a strong suspicion it's bone."

"Bone?"

"Mm," said Castiel, nodding. "This is the arm that you broke when I first saw you, is that correct?"

"Uh, yeah but that was weeks ago."

"It doesn't matter. I think when you snapped it back into shape, the bone splintered and your RH body has pushed the pieces to the surface. You probably haven't noticed it until now."

"Oh..." said Dean, releasing a pent-up breath.

Castiel chuckled. "No big scary spiders to contend with."

Dean actually seemed embarrassed. His cheeks were pink but he was smiling. "Look, you didn't see that documentary, okay? The thing was huge." At Castiel's laugh, he added, "Its legs were longer than mine!"

"I doubt that, Dean..." murmured Castiel. His thumb was absently brushing back and forth across the fighter's arm and he hadn't noticed until Dean's eyes flitted to it. Dropping the limb like it was on fire, Castiel stood up. "Let's take a close look at your arm, shall we," he said, indicating to the door.

* * *

"Well," said Castiel, holding the x-ray up to the light. "It is bone and unfortunately there're quite a few pieces."

"What're you gonna do? Cut them out?"

"I think that would be prudent," replied Castiel. He wheeled his chair backwards to gain access to the bottom draw in the metal cabinet under his desk and pulled out a sixteen by twenty inch light box with its own stand. He propped it up, plugged it in and set the x-ray film on top. "Do you see these dark shards?"

"Fuck, all that's bone?"

"Yes, if they were left alone I don't think they would do any serious damage but I'd prefer to remove them just to be on the safe side."

"How long is this gonna take?"

"There are over fourteen pieces. I'll admit it will take awhile but it's entirely up to you. If you don't want to proceed then that's perfectly acceptable."

Dean gnawed his lip before he shrugged and said, "Whatever. Do it. It's not like I haven't had worse pain."

Castiel's eyebrows met his hairline. "Dean, I'm not going to do it without anaesthetic!" he exclaimed.

"Oh," said Dean. "Oh... okay, awesome."

Did he honestly think that Castiel would open up his arm without so much as numbing the area first? What kind of establishment did Dean think he was running? He didn't torture his patients!

"Dude, have I offended you?"

Castiel lifted his gaze to meet a pair of amused green eyes.

"You look like you're about to pop a blood vessel," said Dean sincerely.

The doctor pulled a face, shaking his head. "You're so used to pain it scares me."

Dean's smile softened. "Didn't mean to scare you, Cas." There was a touch of honesty in his tone despite it being intended as a joke and it made Castiel's heart swell.

"Let's fix you up, shall we?" he sighed.

"It's what you're best at," replied Dean.

* * *

Nine shards of bloody bone were lying in a metal tin beside Castiel. It had been easier to get at the broken pieces than Castiel had originally assumed because they were close to the skin. Dean was the perfect patient and sat quietly while Castiel worked though he felt Dean's heavy gaze on him and that was a little distracting.

The door to the examination room flew open with a bang. "Cassy, I'm depressed," said Gabriel, sauntering inside and throwing himself haphazardly on the exam bed. "I need drugs."

"Gabriel," snapped Castiel. "I'm working!"

His best friend lifted himself up onto his elbow and gave Dean a cursory glance. "It's only Deano. He doesn't care, do you?"

"Couldn't give a shit."

"See?"

Castiel muttered curse words under his breath. He returned his attention to Dean's arm, carefully plucking the splinters out. "Why are you depressed?" he asked with resignation.

"Sammy is denying me."

"Denying you of what?"

"His penis."

Castiel glared at him. "Gabriel, this is a surgery, you can't—"

"I said penis! Not cock!"

"I'm gonna throw up," groaned Dean.

"I'm sorry, Dean," said Castiel. "Gabriel, please refrain from talking about Sam in such a derogatory way. His brother is sitting right here."

"Fi-ne," huffed Gabriel. "But I'm still depressed."

"Have you had an argument with Sam?" asked Castiel. Sometimes he had the patience of a saint.

"Urg! He said I have to stop starting brawls in Rippers. It isn't my fault if I get a little jealous is it?"

Castiel's head snapped up. "You've been fighting in—" He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. "Rippers is a cage fighting club, Gabriel. Please use your common sense!"

"They were hitting on him!"

"He's the bar tender," reasoned Castiel. "Bar tenders have to deal with overly friendly patrons all the time."

Gabriel sighed forlornly. "My ass feels empty without his cock in it."

"That's it! Get out!" shouted Castiel and jumped to his feet.

"Okay, okay I'm going!" said Gabriel, holding up his hands in surrender. "But if you see me buying a long length of rope at the store you'll only have yourself to blame."

Castiel frog marched him to the door and pushed him out. "Don't be ridiculous. You would never commit suicide. You love yourself too much."

"Ah, it's true," said Gabriel. "It would be a tragedy."

Castiel closed the door on his face and locked it. Gabriel might have been his best friend but he had a habit of showing up at the most inconvenient times. "I'm sorry about that," he said as he sat down again. Because of the interruption, he had to clean his hands again, swap his gloves, and reopen Dean's arm.

"Hey, it's cool."

"Gabriel always assumes I want to hear every single detail of his sexual escapades," muttered Castiel. "He thinks it'll entice me into dating."

There was a long pause. When Castiel looked up, Dean's eyes were on his arm. "You, uh, don't date?" he asked, keeping his eyes lowered.

Castiel's heart throbbed. "No...I, well, I—" He fidgeted. "I suppose I haven't met the right man."

Their eyes met. "So you're gay?"

Did he really need to ask? Castiel had been fawning over Dean so pathetically it was a wonder he hadn't taken out a restraining order. "Yes," said Castiel.

Dean licked his lips and nodded and that was, apparently, the end of the conversation.

* * *

Before Dean even opened his mouth it was evident that something was wrong. He was introverted, shoulders hunched, eyebrows drawn, mouth set. It was a mark of how far they had come in such a short space of time that Dean answered at all when Castiel asked how he was. "I'm good," he said. Not much of an answer – not a believable one – but an answer all the same.

Castiel wasn't sure how to proceed. Something told him to be careful, that Dean was fragile and wouldn't be able to answer Castiel's usual torrent of questions. So he peered at him from across the desk and decided to take a different route. "Would you like to go out somewhere?"

Dean blinked. "Why?"

"For a change of scenery," said Castiel. "It's a beautiful day after all. We shouldn't waste it."

"Whatever you say, doc."

At Dean's insistence they took his – recently restored – Impala and followed Castiel's directions to the city borders. Conversation was limited but Castiel could see a change in Dean already. He had the window rolled down, his arm hanging out while he drove, wind blowing through his short blonde-brown hair. Castiel was curious to know when Dean had last escaped the city's clutches. A little sun and fresh air did wonders for the body and mind; even Castiel needed to get away sometimes.

"Turn left here."

"Up this dirt track?"

"Yes."

They followed a muddy trail until it widened into the mouth of a small clearing littered with stones and pebbles and hidden by ancient trees and their overhanging limbs. Castiel stepped out of the car. The crashing crescendo of wind singing through the branches and water rushing by greeted his ears.

"Is that..." Dean tilted his head. "Is that a river?"

Castiel touched his elbow briefly. "This way."

Beyond the barrier of the trees led the way to a wide steel grey river, its strong current cutting its way through the landscape. Castiel trotted down the gentle embankment and turned to Dean. He was looking at the river dubiously. "Are you coming?"

"Not really in the mood to visit Mother Nature, Cas," he grumbled but joined him nonetheless on the well worn path which ran alongside the river. It was wide enough for three or four people but their arms still grazed as they walked.

"It might help you to relax," offered Castiel.

Dean huffed. "I don't need to relax."

"No. You're right. You're the epitome of the relaxed man. Breaking your fingers purposely is just a habit you can't seem to kick."

Dean stared at him incredulously. "What the hell was that?"

"I believe it was sarcasm," said Castiel, smirking.

"Now don't sell yourself short, there was a bit of temper in there too."

"Are you mocking me, Mr Winchester?"

"Only a little," said Dean, nudging Castiel's shoulder with his own. They smiled at each other.

"I haven't been out of the city for awhile," said Dean. He took a deep breath and exhaled. "Haven't had the time, I guess."

Castiel nodded sagely. "Tearing people apart must by a busy occupation."

"And there's that dry wit again," said Dean, shaking his head. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"There's a great deal you don't know about me."

"Ooo, Mr Mysterious."

Castiel chuckled.

"Who are you really then, Cas? Serial killer? Superhero? The dorky doctor thing is just a cover, right?"

"I'll have you know this dorky doctor saved your arm," said Castiel indignantly.

"I'd've survived," murmured Dean. He kicked a stone and it bounced twice along the path before skittering into the river.

"It's okay to ask for help, Dean. It doesn't make you weak."

Dean shook his head in exasperation. "Why does everyone think I need help?"

"Why are you always so quick to deny that you do?"

"Because I don't need it!" he snapped.

"If that's the case then why are you here?" said Castiel, coming to a halt. "Why do you see me? And don't say it's for your brother, Dean, because that's a lie. You wouldn't be here unless some part of you wanted help, wanted attention."

"Attention," snorted Dean derisively. "I'm not a fucking _dog_, Cas."

"No, you're not," replied Castiel, capturing his gaze. "You're a human being yet you're surrounded by people who treat you otherwise. They think you can get by with three meals a day and a pat on the back after a "good" fight. You're not a robot, Dean. You need to feel other sensations, not just pain."

"Maybe I like it!" exclaimed Dean. "Maybe I like the pain. Maybe I like ripping people limb from limb with my hands. Have you ever thought of that? Or is that too scary? Does it scare you that I might just be _that_ fucked up, Cas?"

"You don't enjoy it," said Castiel. "Because you don't date."

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?!"

"If you dated," said Castiel as he moved closer to Dean, there gazes locked, "then you would be having sex," he didn't miss the way Dean flinched, "you would be socialising, drinking, going out but instead you stay in, you hide away from the world, alone, with only your brother for company. You don't touch and you don't become intimate with anyone—"

"What the fuck do you know?"

"—because touching to show affection has become foreign to you. You no longer know what it is."

Dean's lips thinned. They were glaring at each other, practically nose to nose. Castiel's heartbeat was in his ears. Instinct told him to keep pushing. It was now or never. Dean was like a snorting bull, nostrils flared, anger fierce in his eyes but Castiel didn't back down.

"When you touch flesh..." Castiel lifted his arm, taking a chance he hoped wouldn't blow up in his face, and laid his hand on the back of Dean's neck. The short hairs there tickled the pads of his fingers. Dean didn't move an inch nor did his expression change. "You see anger. Blood. Pain and nothing else." They were so close they were sharing breath. "You're afraid," he finished quietly.

Dean's jaw twitched. "So that's it? You've got me all figured out."

"I think I was quite accurate." Castiel dropped his arm but Dean caught him by the wrist, his palm burning into Castiel's skin like a branding iron. He was gripping his wrist so tightly it hurt.

"You're not as smart as you think you are, you know," Dean whispered.

Castiel licked his lips. "I don't hear you denying it."

There was a breath of silence, a second, just enough time for a cursory breeze to blow between them and then Dean surged forward, closing the last few inches, and kissed Castiel.

It was hot, temperature hot, but also the type of hot that sent electricity running through his veins, raised the hairs on the back of his neck and made him dizzy with want. Dean was kissing him like he was desperate; it was feverish and explicitly wanton and Castiel opened up for him, allowed Dean's tongue to slide into his mouth and move against his own. Their hips crashed together and Castiel was squeezed against Dean's strong, heated body.

His mind was completely and utterly, blissfully blank. Had he been thinking he would have realised what a mistake it was. Dean was a patient, a patient who broke bones for a living and was neck deep in trouble with a group of criminals Castiel actively tried to avoid. Then again, this was also Dean, the man who willingly wore a backbreaking burden on his shoulders to save his brother's life and never asked for a drop of help from anybody. If that wasn't reason enough to stand by him despite the trouble he may get himself into, then Castiel didn't know what was.

Their lips moved in sync, soft pleasurable swipes of tongue, nips of teeth and swallowed moans. Dean kissed Castiel's cheek, his jaw, his neck and hugged him, resting his head on his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long moment with only the sounds of birds whistling and the river rushing by to keep them company. He felt Dean shift and Castiel was almost about to pull back when, to his surprise and dismay, wetness trickled down Castiel's neck. Dean's shoulders shook and a small, heartbreaking sob forced its way out. He wondered how long the pressure had been mounting inside Dean

Not knowing what else to do, Castiel held on tighter and waited for Dean to stop crying.

* * *

The drive back was a peaceful one. Dean kept a continuous grip on Castiel's hand the entire way. He looked better than he ever had. For once, there wasn't a frown on Dean's face. His expression was open and didn't look as though it was holding thousands of secrets and hundreds of hurts.

"I've got two months left until it's over," said Dean, breaking the quiet in the car.

Castiel looked at him. "It will be over soon. Just remember that you're not alone. You don't have to do it alone."

"Yeah, I know..." murmured Dean. He squeezed Castiel's hand.

The sun was setting, an orange and red splash of vibrant colour across the darkening blue sky. It shone low on the horizon, setting the trees and the grass alight. Castiel gazed out of the window and revelled in the new found connection between them. A barrier had been broken down, one Castiel hadn't realised had been there until it had disappeared. It was as though the air was weightless. There was nothing more that needed to be said. There was an understanding and for the time being, everything was clear.

The vibration in Castiel's pocket plucked him out of his reverie. Fishing it out, he glanced at the name displayed on the screen before answering.

"Hello, Gabriel," he said and immediately frowned when he heard pained grunting like a wounded animal. "Gabriel? Are you alright?" There was a gasp and Castiel started to worry. "Gabriel, are you there? Are you hurt? Hello?"

Muffled sounds, as though the phone was being moved around, scratched down the receiver. "Ah, h-hello, mmf!"

Castiel pulled a face. "Gabriel, what—"

"Cassy?! Oh, ahh, hee-eey! Mmm!"

Dean glanced at Castiel, raising a brow. Gabriel was panting heavily and in the background there were definite sounds of something squeaking. Slowly, realisation began to dawn on him and it wasn't a revelation he wanted to make. "Gabriel, please tell me you're not-"

"Me and Sammy made, ah, up!"

There was a loud, pained moan.

"Gabriel are you having SEX?!" yelled Castiel. His driving companion burst into hysterical laughter.

"Sorry, speed dial, I sat on my...my cell. Oooh, yeah, more! But while you're here, I wanted to ask—"

Castiel repeatedly mashed in the 'end' button and threw it over his shoulder onto the back seat, shuddering in disgust. He was going to suffer from nightmares because of this. A lot of nightmares. He could still hear the horrifying sound of Gabriel's squeaking bed. Or had it been Sam's? _Why was he even thinking about this?!_

"Oh man, that's priceless," chuckled Dean, wiping a tear from his eye.

"I don't know why you're laughing. That was your brother having make up sex with Gabriel." He shuddered again.

"I didn't hear it," said Dean smugly. "So I'm not scarred."

"Oh, I can call them back for you if you'd like," said Castiel grimly. "I wouldn't want you to miss out."

Dean only grinned.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean's hands were all over Castiel as if he couldn't get enough of touching. Castiel liked it, of course he did, but it was difficult keeping things strictly PG when Dean's glorious body was on display and currently wrapped around Castiel. It was the lull before Dean's fight and they were standing on the balcony, the audience underneath them, a sea of undulating bodies, while Dean kissed his throat, sliding his tongue up behind Castiel's ear.

"Dean," he panted. "You really have to..." A moan escaped him as Dean's erection pushed up against his own. "You have to stop," he pleaded.

"Just let me... let me hold you some more...oh god you feel so good," he breathed and sucked on the space between Castiel's shoulder and neck. His skin tingled deliciously under Dean's lips and it was impossible to deny him so he didn't try. His willpower had died a valiant death long ago.

Dean's hips shifted and Castiel gasped as the fighter started to grind roughly into him. The shirt Castiel was wearing was glued to his chest and back with perspiration but Dean didn't seem to have any trouble sliding his hands underneath and gripping Castiel's waist with his broad, fire-hot palms. He was trapped between Dean's solid, immovable body and the railing; even if he had wanted to escape there was no way he could have.

Hands slipping down to Dean's backside, Castiel squeezed, urging him to rub harder. Dean's breaths stuttered and he suddenly stopped, pulling back. "Shit," muttered Dean around a chuckle.

"Is something wrong?"

"I was gonna come in my fucking pants."

Castiel felt his face heat and was glad of the dim lighting. Instead of answering he drew Dean closer into his arms again.

"Winchester!"

Dean didn't pay the slightest bit of attention. His mouth had returned to Castiel's and he was kissing him for all he was worth, slick rolls of his tongue and lips so soft Castiel melted into them.

"Hey, Winchester! You're up, man!"

Unconsciously, Castiel's grasp tightened on Dean's hips, wanting to hold onto him for longer.

"Winchester, if you don't get your ass—"

"Okay, okay!" yelled Dean over his shoulder. When he turned back to Castiel there was an unexpected cloud of anxiety in his gaze. "Cas, don't watch. Please. It's awesome that you're here and I get why you are...but ..." He seemed to struggle.

Laying a hand on Dean's chest, over his heart, Castiel said, "It's all right, Dean. I'll leave. If you need me after the fight don't hesitate to call."

Dean released a weighted breath and smiled. Only a little. He kissed Castiel on the forehead and made his way down the metal staircase through the crowd, towards the ring where he would once again destroy himself.

* * *

A few minutes past eight PM and Castiel was rereading a sentence he had already skimmed three times before. The clock on the wall was ticking too loudly. It's persistent _tick tocks_ were matching the throbbing in Castiel's head with too much precision. Although Dean wasn't by any means obliged to call Castiel, he would have preferred to have heard from him regardless, just to know that physically and mentally he was well. He was debating going back to Rippers when his phone rang. Withdrawing it without checking the caller ID, he answered swiftly. "This is Dr Novak."

_"Castiel, can you come to the club?"_

It was Sam.

"Why, what's wrong?"

_"It's Dean." _There was a great deal of noise in the background, voices, music and crackling interference but he could still hear the panic in Sam's voice and it did absolutely nothing to stem his own rising fear. _"Something's wrong with him."_

"What? What happened? I'm on my way," he said, grabbing his coat and keys.

_"I don't know, he just... You need to see him."_

"Tell me what's wrong with him, Sam," demanded Castiel as he raced down the stairs.

_"I don't know! That's the problem. He was fine before. He's just finished a match and... well..."_

"What happened in the fight? Was he harmed?" Castiel winced of course Dean was harmed, when was he not?

_"Yeah, he, um, he had," _Sam exhaled and there was a long enough pause that Castiel grew frustrated.

"Tell me what happened Sam!" shouted Castiel. He darted across the road to the parking lot on the opposite side of the street, barely missing a speeding minivan.

_"The guy ripped Dean's jaw off. They managed to, um, to fix it but... but now he's just sitting there. He isn't responding at all."_

His stomach turned. Unrivalled fear crawled up his throat. How could Sam have allowed it to happen? How could anyone? It was inhumane! It was cruel! Anger and panic were warring inside his chest as his mind reeled off flitting thoughts of revenge and 'what ifs'. "How is he physically? What are his physical symptoms?"

_"I don't know... he's...pale? And his skin is clammy... fuck, I-I don't know what's wrong with him. Dean! Dean, look at me. He isn't responding."_

"Is he awake?"

_"Yeah but—"_

"Measure his pulse."

A brief pause and then - _"Shit it's fast but... I can hardly feel it."_

"Sam, listen to me. Dean is in shock, you need to –"

_"He's collapsed! Fuck! Dean! Dean! Holy shit, he's not breathing!"_

"Call an ambulance!" Castiel was sprinting now. He slammed into the side of his car and hurriedly unlocked the door.

_"I can't, Bela won't—"_

"Don't you understand?! If you don't do something soon, Dean is going to DIE!"

_"But what if—"_

"Dr Castiel Novak?"

Castiel spun around, prepared to dismiss whoever had spoken when the sane part of his mind caught sight of the two men dressed in pristine attire, looking much too formal for their emergence to be anything less than serious. "Yes?"

"I'm special agent Henricksen, FBI," he flashed his badge, "and this is special agent Turner, also FBI. If you have time we'd like a word."

"Actually, I have an emergency –"

"Which is what the emergency services are for," said Turner. He assessed Castiel with a critical gaze and if there hadn't already been an array of emotions fighting for dominance within him, Castiel would have been offended.

"What is this about?" asked Castiel, calm and collected. Or what he hoped was calm and collected. He ended the call to Sam surreptitiously and slipped his phone back into his pocket. Seconds later it began to vibrate again.

"Do you have somewhere private we can talk?" said Henricksen.

"I'm in a hurry," stated Castiel. "If you have to talk to me, you can talk to me here."

"Or we can arrest you—"

"That won't be necessary," interrupted Henricksen. "Please, Dr Novak? This is important."

_And so was Dean's life!_ Castiel wanted to scream but they were agents and bringing any attention of the law abiding kind to Rippers would be a grave mistake. It took every scrap of willpower he had to relock his car and lead the agents to his surgery.

It hadn't occurred to him, while the three of them gathered in Castiel's office, that he might actually be in trouble.

"Dr Novak," said Henricksen, getting comfortable in the chair opposite Castiel's desk. Castiel was sitting behind it, fidgeting and desperate to answer his phone which wouldn't stop vibrating against his leg. "Are you aware of a club called Rippers?"

"Yes."

"Are you also aware of the type of fights that go on there?"

"Yes. Cage fighting."

"Have you heard of RH fighting?"

"Yes, I've seen it on the news."

"And you know that it's illegal?"

"Yes."

"We have reason to believe that RH fights have been taking place at Rippers. Have you heard or seen anything suspicious?"

Castiel hesitated. "No."

Henricksen studied him for a moment before continuing. "Although providing medical treatment to RH fighters isn't illegal, withholding information from the FBI is."

"I understand," said Castiel.

"Then would you care to explain why you have been visiting Rippers frequently over the past month, Dr Novak?"

How long had they been watching? Castiel guessed they knew more than they were letting on but he wasn't about to hand Dean over to the FBI just because they had hinted at a few threats. "I enjoy the music," said Castiel - a ridiculous notion but what did they know?

The agents stared at him expressionlessly. "You enjoy the music," repeated Henricksen. "This is a serious investigation, Dr Novak. Let's not play games."

"I'm not playing games," insisted Castiel. "I enjoy the... atmosphere and the..." he scrambled to find the right word, "the drum beat."

"You have Friedrich Nietzsche on your bookshelf. I highly doubt someone like you listens to death metal in their spare time."

"Ah, now that's stereotyping," Castiel pointed out. "And I resent it."

Henricksen and Turner shared a look. It was clear they had nothing to go on which is why Castiel felt ballsy enough to push his luck. "Is that it? Can I leave?"

"Yes, I think that's it for now," said Henricksen, rising to his feet. "We may contact you in future is something else arises."

In other words – to quote The Terminator – 'I'll be back.'

Castiel wasn't worried. Rippers had been in business for a long time and Bela seemed to be adept at keeping the police off her back. The FBI was evidently struggling to find proof if they were reduced to tailing lowly private physicians in the hopes of catching the fighters red handed.

He walked them to the door and was seconds away from flying to his car again once they had left when a thought struck him: what if they followed Castiel to Rippers? It would seem awfully suspicious and they would be bound to question him about it.

He cursed under his breath. It was exactly the type of thing he would expect them to do.

Castiel extracted his cell phone, ignoring the numerous voice mails Sam had left in favour of calling him directly.

He answered on the second ring. _"Castiel what happened?"_

"How's Dean?"

Sam sighed. _"He's okay."_

Castiel sagged against the wall, slipping to the floor.

_"When he stopped breathing, uh, Bela slapped him across the face and it woke him up."_

"What—"

_"We think it forced his healing to kick in... like made his body react?"_

Castiel rubbed his eyes. He felt tired all of a sudden. The adrenaline from earlier had all but evaporated. "Can I speak to him?"

_"Yeah, sure,"_ said Sam. _"Um, are you okay? You sound..."_

"I've just had a visit from the FBI."

_"What happened?"_

"They asked if I knew anything about the RH fights at Rippers."

_"Oh... what did you say?"_

"That I didn't know anything." He laid his head back on the wall. "Can I speak to Dean now?"

_"Oh, yeah, sorry, um, he's right here."_ There was a muffled, _"Castiel wants to speak to you,"_ and then Dean's voice rang down the receiver. It was such an overwhelming relief, Castiel's eyes warmed and tears started to build, crystallising his vision.

_"Hey, Cas,"_ said Dean cheerfully. He was _cheerful_.

"Dean," he croaked.

_"What's wrong?"_ said Dean quickly.

"What's _wrong_?" gasped Castiel. "You could...you almost _died_."

_"Hey, it's okay, I'm okay now," _soothed Dean. _"It was just a bad fight, that's all."_

Castiel shook his head and stared at the ceiling of his hallway. The tears were falling fast and hot now, leaving trails of moisture down his cheeks.

_"Cas?"_

"You almost died..." he whispered and couldn't help the tiny sob that escaped.

_"I'm okay, Cas, honestly,"_ murmured Dean. _"Do you want me to come over?"_

How pathetic. Dean had been knocking at Death's door only moments ago and yet he was the one comforting Castiel. He wanted to decline Dean's offer. He wanted to be strong but he was also desperate to see and touch him. Castiel wanted to see with his own eyes that Dean was okay.

"Yes," said Castiel. "Please. I want to see you."

_"Ohh, I get it, you think I'm lying, huh?"_ teased Dean. He tsked. _"There's no trust in this relationship, Cas."_

_"You're in a relationship with Castiel?!"_ Sam exclaimed in the background.

_"Uhh... I might have just outed us to my brother,"_ said Dean.

_"Why didn't you tell me?"_ demanded Sam.

_"Sorry, I was planning to tell you right after we painted each other's nails and had a pillow fight. I'm not a chick, Sam! Jesus."_

Castiel could literally hear Dean rolling his eyes and it made him chuckle weakly.

_"I'll be there in five minutes, okay, Cas?"_

"Okay."

_"I'm alive I swear."_

"That's not the point..." grumbled Castiel.

Dean laughed. _"See you soon."_

* * *

"See? It's still attached Cas."

"I should take an x-ray—"

"I'm _fine_."

"—to check if everything has healed well because—"

"Cas."

"—there could be a risk of infection. And I should probably—"

"_Cas!_" Dean caught Castiel's agitated hands which had been examining his jaw and held them between both of his. "I'm okay. You can stop with the whole mother hen routine. I'm good. I swear."

Castiel huffed, eyes flitting over Dean's face. He looked fine but that didn't make any sense, not after what he had just been through. "You may be right," he reluctantly conceded. "But I don't understand why you're in such a good mood. No less than an hour ago your jaw was on the floor."

"Yeah, I guess it was a jaw-dropping match, huh?" joked Dean.

Castiel was not amused. "Dean—"

"Cas, relax. I'm good. I feel..." He hesitated and his arms drew Castiel in, hands rubbing up and down his lower back. "I don't know. I feel... happy."

Castiel squinted. "Happy," he said slowly.

"Yes. You remember 'happy' don't you? It's when you smile like this..." He used his thumbs to push the corners of Castiel's mouth up into a forced grin. Dean laughed. "Oh man... you look so freakin' cute." And, as if realising what he had just said, Dean's face flushed pink and he dropped his hands, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

_That_ brought a smile to Castiel's face. "You called me cute."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"How else could you mean it?"

"I dunno! Snails are cute aren't they? It's no compliment. Can we move out of the hall?"

Castiel frowned. Were snails cute? They had slimy bodies and eyestalks and left a trail of mucus when they travelled. He wasn't sure he liked being compared to a snail. Sighing, Castiel led the way up to his apartment; so much for his first compliment from Dean.

"Huh, this is nice," said Dean, stepping over the threshold after Castiel. He closed the door quietly behind him and took in the quaint kitchen and living room. The walls consisted of soft colours with the occasional landscape painting and photograph dotted around the apartment. He had a floral patterned sofa and two chairs encircling a low cherry wood coffee table that stood a few feet from the medium sized glass screen television – a very rarely used item since Castiel preferred to read in his spare time.

"Would you like something to drink?" offered Castiel. He still felt jittery and uncomfortable in his own skin after the day's shocking events and he wasn't sure he could settle down and drink tea though he supposed Dean wouldn't want tea. Beer would most likely be—

"You got a beer?"

Castiel smiled to himself and moved into the kitchen. His refrigerator was nice and full, not just of the foods he liked but of those Gabriel and Anna liked too given that they visited often. He reached to the back of one of the lower shelves and withdrew an icy cold bottle.

"How did it happen?" asked Castiel, closing the door and turning to face Dean who was leaning against the kitchen table, looking distracted. He was eying Castiel's faded blue t-shirt with an unreadable expression on his face.

"You mean my jaw?" he said finally.

Castiel nodded and handed over the beer.

Dean shrugged. "I let him get a good grip on me. It was my fault."

"It must have been... indescribably painful," said Castiel. He watched Dean carefully for any signs of distress but Dean appeared to be just as careful not to let anything show.

"It was quick," muttered Dean, plucking at the label on his bottle. "I got down on the floor before he could..." He stopped abruptly.

"Before he could what?" prompted Castiel.

Dean glanced at Castiel's face. "Look, Cas, I get that you want to help but I really don't want to talk about it." He popped the lid off the bottle using the silver ring on his finger as leverage. The lid jumped and bounced across the kitchen table. As Castiel stretched to reach it, his t-shirt riding up his back, a warm hand skated under his top and across his belly. It was a soft, gentle touch with no hidden intent behind it but it still made Castiel's pulse triple its pace.

He looked up and Dean's lips were tilted into a tiny smile. "I've never seen you like this," he said, rubbing Castiel's tummy.

"What do you mean?" Castiel turned into the touch and ran his hands over Dean's forearms when they crept around his waist.

"In nothing but sweats and an old t-shirt." Their hips lined up. "It looks good on you."

The warmth of Dean's body was just as welcoming as the smile he was giving him. "I've never seen you like this either," said Castiel quietly, laying his palms flat on Dean's chest. The hands at his back slid lower under the waistband of his baggy sweatpants.

Dean snorted. "I always wear this."

"I was referring to the smile on your face."

"What? I smile all the time. I'm a happy guy."

Castiel raised a brow and Dean chuckled, his head falling back as he groaned at the ceiling. "Oookay, fine. I'm not the happiest guy in the world but what do you expect?" His hands dipped into Castiel's underwear, sliding over his bare ass and squeezing his cheeks. "You've got a nice ass," he said with a mischievous grin.

Castiel flushed with pleasure, returning the smile. "You've never seen it," he pointed out. Castiel was by no means a flirt but with Dean it came easily like it was only natural to do so. It was no mystery why: Castiel honestly didn't think there had been anyone in his whole life who he had been more attracted to than Dean.

"True..." said Dean and then he winked. "You gonna show it to me?" The hard rubs and squeezes of his ass were making Castiel's skin burn.

He exhaled shakily, "If you'd like."

Surprise lit Dean's eyes but it was quickly devoured by lust. "Mmm, I think I would," he said. His fingers slipped in between his cheeks and ever so lightly brushed against his hole.

The perspiration slicking Castiel's hands was making Dean's shirt damp. It felt like his skin was overheating and would set fire at any minute.

"Let's see it then," said Dean, removing his hands from Castiel's underwear and slapping him hard on the rear.

Castiel yelped in shock. As he rubbed away the sting, he said, "You want me to...strip?" His face was bright red, he could feel it. "Here?"

"You're only flashing your ass," Dean said, grinning. "It's no big deal."

There was no mistaking the hot, hard length of Dean's cock pushing insistently against Castiel's hip and it was that, coupled with the look of lust in Dean's eyes, that spurred him on to be bold.

He stepped back and turned around, hooking his thumbs in both his sweatpants and underwear and, hesitating, he pulled them down over his erection, past the curve of his ass. Cool air swept over the damp tip of his dick. He waited embarrassed and excited for Dean's reaction.

There was a long, tense pause and then in a voice Castiel barely recognised as Dean, he said, "I can't see it properly, why don't you bend over the counter so I've got a good view."

Castiel licked his lips and slowly complied, allowing his sweatpants to drop to his ankles as he bent over the surface, palms moist, fingers splayed. He waited for what seemed like an eternity when he heard Dean move. His heart was racing, he could feel it crashing against his ribs, thudding into the countertop and then, without warning, there were hands on his hips.

"I was right," said Dean huskily. "You do have a good ass." His thumbs brushed over the lower part of Castiel's back. The touch was barely there yet it still made Castiel's cock throb. Precome was pearling at the tip and dripping down the length.

Dean kissed his neck, feather soft and Castiel tilted it to display more of his throat. "I want to fuck you," said Dean, hand gliding across Castiel's hipbone to squeeze his dick, stroking it tight and deliberate. Castiel's mouth fell open and he moaned. In the silence of the kitchen, it seemed much too loud. "But I don't think I can go slow..." He licked Castiel's ear lobe. "And soft."

There seemed to be a problem with Castiel's vocal chords. He couldn't speak. He was too wrapped up sensation of Dean's hands, especially the one currently tugging on his cock. "I don't want it slow," he managed to gasp out.

"How do you want it?" Dean's other hand cupped his balls and he rolled them in his palm. "Tell me, Cas."

"Hard," he panted. Castiel's entire list of sexual experiences was, at best, mediocre. He had never had the kind of rough, hard, abandoned sex that he sometimes secretly craved. It was Dean and his strong arms and sultry voice that brought that side out of him.

The heat of Dean's hands left him and he heard the sound of a wrapper tearing. The next thing he knew, there was a cool, slippery finger rubbing over his hole. Castiel arched his back and urged Dean to push inside, which he did, slowly.

Despite Dean's insistence that he wouldn't be able to go slow with Castiel, he very carefully and gently opened him up, stroking in all the right places to keep Castiel squirming and gasping in pleasure. He could hear how heavy Dean's breaths were falling and he could feel the hot hardness of his erection through his rough jeans but Dean still didn't rush.

Once he had three fingers snugly and somewhat comfortably inside, he heard Dean's quiet, "Fuck..." He dragged his fingers in and out and Castiel whimpered. The counter underneath his hands and forearms was slick with sweat. "Fuck," whispered Dean. "You look so... Jesus...fuck. Can't wait anymore—"

A zipper, another crinkle of a wrapper and Castiel felt the hard, blunt head of Dean's cock nudge his hole. "I'm gonna fuck you so good, Cas... so good."

Finally, Dean pushed his cock inside, a long slippery hardness. He sank in deep, all the way, until Dean's hips reached his backside. Dean waited an unnecessary amount of time for Castiel to get used to the new fullness. He seemed absolutely determined not to hurt Castiel which was very sweet but the slow, steady speed was driving Castiel crazy with want.

"Dean, please..." he begged.

Without answering, Dean pulled back and then thrust in again hard enough to knock the breath out of Castiel. His rhythm was erratic at first but then he picked up pace, his thrusts became harder and faster and all Castiel could do was take it. His apartment was so quiet that the slap of Dean's hips against his ass was positively vulgar.

He pushed back onto the thick cock pounding into him and was overwhelmed with sensations. It was so rough it was painful but that only added to the pleasure. He didn't even think to touch his own dick which was dripping with precome. Castiel slipped across the shiny counter with each of Dean's powerful thrusts.

It wasn't long before Castiel could feel his climax rising sharp, hot and fast. Each punch of Dean's cock against his prostate pushed him closer and closer to the edge until finally he came hard with a choked off moan, spurting come over the kitchen cabinets.

Dean's hips jerked erratically, losing their rhythm. He pushed in once, twice and then shouted his release.

After a moment to catch his breath, Dean pulled out. Castiel was midway through fixing his clothes when he felt a finger dip into his hole. He looked over his shoulder at Dean who was bent low, peering at Castiel's ass.

"What are you doing?" chuckled Castiel. He felt lazy, overly happy like he wanted to giggle – he refrained from doing so but the urge was definitely there.

"You're not sore are you?" said Dean.

"I'm an RH, I don't get sore," said Castiel, swatting Dean's hand out of the way so he could pull his sweatpants up. "You shouldn't worry about hurting me. I heal just as well as you do."

Dean was frowning. "But what if—"

"Are you planning to keep that as a souvenir or are you going to throw it out?" asked Castiel who had caught sight of the used condom in Dean's hand.

"Uh..."

Castiel smiled and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist. "Are you usually this incoherent after sex?"

A light pink tinged Dean's cheeks and he laughed. "I haven't been laid in like... ten months, Cas, and I've just come so hard I saw stars, sorry if I'm not quoting Shakespeare."

"You don't have to quote Shakespeare, colloquial English will suffice."

"You're kind of a smartass, you know that?"

"Yes, I'm fully aware."


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel pondered Dean's newfound cheeriness with intense scrutiny over the next few days. Even if he was an RH, nobody collapsed of shock and smiled an hour later, it wasn't natural, and yet, despite his certainty that there was an underlying problem that Dean was hiding, he couldn't find a single issue. Dean, as he so profoundly insisted, was _fine_.

The subject of Dean's health was on Castiel's mind constantly. Every minute of every day, Dean was in his head. It was only absolute luck that his patients hadn't noticed his flagrant absentmindedness and called him out on it.

He wondered, during his lunch break, if perhaps Dean was _still_ in shock and he hadn't actually registered what had happened to him. Then again, he had been cracking jokes about his injury, addressing it without realising it. Dean wasn't openly avoiding talking about the injury, maybe how the match played out but not the wound itself.

Castiel stared out of the window, at the little sparrow cleaning its wing in the thicket, and considered asking Dean to talk about the fight in greater detail. It had, after all, been a week since the accident. It was fresh in his mind but not fresh enough to cause damage if Dean _was_ still in shock.

"Castiel?"

He turned around and was surprised to see Sam standing timidly in the doorway to his office.

"Sorry, your receptionist, uh, Becky? She let me in, said it'd be okay."

"Of course," said Castiel, sitting down. "Take a seat."

Sam strode into the room, eyes darting about the interior, and sat down in the chair Dean usually took. He cleared his throat. "I've got a favour to ask."

Castiel nodded and when Sam didn't immediately explain he said, "What is it?"

"Bela had a tip off that there was going to be an FBI agent scouting Rippers tonight. She's told all the RHs to throw their fights."

"Throw them? You mean cancel?" Rippers supplied both RH and regular (legal) cage fights. He was amazed Bela was willing to cancel the rapid healer fights since the crowd paid the most for them.

Sam shook his head. "It'd look suspicious if half the fights listed were cancelled. If we get inspections, Bela has one of the opponents in each RH match go down in the first ten, twenty minutes."

"They lose on purpose?"

"Yeah. Usually the fighters are okay with it because... well, it has to be done. If not, the FBI catches them and it's game over."

"How do they decide who loses? I can't imagine any of the fighters would be happy to do that."

"No," said Sam. "It's a coin toss."

"I see. That seems... fair," he supposed, though all of it was completely illegal so the integrity was relative.

"The problem is, my brother's up against the same guy who ripped his jaw off last week. Dean lost the coin toss but he's refusing to throw the fight." Sam chewed his lip. "I guess it's his pride."

Castiel could understand why Dean would want a fair fight with the man who had damaged him so brutally but pride wasn't worth a jail sentence nor was it worth risking his brother's life. Surely Dean could see that? "What is it you want me to do? Talk to him?" said Castiel. "I doubt Dean will listen if he's determined to fight. He's quite stubborn."

"No...uh, no I don't want you to talk to him. Actually, I was kind of hoping you'd... take his place," said Sam slowly.

Castiel's eyebrows flew up.

"Before you say no," Sam rushed, holding up a hand, "all you have to do is stay in the ring for ten minutes at the most and dance around the guy. He'll hit you a few times and pretend to knock you down and keep you down and then when the timer's up that's it, it's over."

Of all the things Castiel had guessed Sam would say, taking Dean's place certainly hadn't been one of them. "You think he will allow me to take his place?" said Castiel dubiously.

Sam actually laughed at that. "No, definitely not. But if we switch your name with his at the last minute there won't be anything he can do about it. Fighters get replaced all the time; it won't be out of the ordinary." At the obviously sceptical expression on Castiel's face, Sam barrelled on, "You're the only person who can do it and think about it, ten minutes in the ring and that's it, Dean's safe, Rippers is safe and no one has to get hurt."

"Except me."

"Yeah but you're an RH, you'll heal."

Tapping the desk with his fingers, Castiel deliberated. "I'm not sure I could betray Dean like that."

"It isn't betrayal if it's going to help him, is it?"

It would help Dean there was no question about that. However, whether it was worth losing Dean's trust, he didn't know. He recoiled from the idea of going behind Dean's back like that but as Sam had said it would save them all a great deal of trouble and Dean would be safe. In Castiel's eyes that was the most important part to take into account, that Dean would be safe from harm.

He was leaning towards accepting the plan when a thought suddenly occurred to him. "What about the FBI?"

"What about them?"

"They've been watching me. They know I'm a doctor. Won't it seem strange if I compete?"

"They don't know you're an RH, do they?"

"No."

"Then it doesn't matter. Anyone can sign up for a cage fight. For all they know you could have a knack for it."

Castiel tilted his head in thought. It was plausible but there were so many variables to consider and so many things that could go wrong that it didn't seem wise to do it. His instincts told him to refuse but his heart urged him to protect Dean, to take his place and keep him safe.

"Castiel," Sam leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk and using the full force of his gaze. "Last week was bad. If Dean gets in the ring again with this guy I'm worried it'll..."

"Kill him?"

Sam nodded.

Castiel sighed in resignation and rubbed his face. "What do I need to do?"

* * *

The changing rooms at Rippers were cold, damp and smelled of sweat combined with the metal tang of blood. Castiel sat on the long wooden bench and wrapped his knuckles in the tape Sam had supplied. His stomach was churning with anxiety, partially for his own safety but mainly in anticipation for Dean's reaction. He wasn't going to be happy when he discovered the truth, that was for sure. Castiel only hoped Dean understood why he had agreed to do it.

"How're you doing?" asked Sam. He had sneaked Castiel in through the back. Bela had handed him a short form to fill out and sign which was, essentially, a standard disclosure that Rippers was not liable for any damages Castiel was going to sustain. Admittedly, he had hesitated when reading through the "fatal wounds" paragraph.

Bela and Sam were the only employees Castiel had actually seen. He had expected to see other fighters littered about the place.

"Nervous," confessed Castiel. What had he gotten himself into? He rolled his lips into his mouth and released a pent-up breath, looking up at Sam from the bench. "Where's Dean?"

"He's probably at the bar. He likes to have a drink before the match."

It was a comfort knowing that Dean was near to Castiel, even if Dean himself had no idea. "You haven't changed the names yet?"

"I think Bela's doing it now," said Sam. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Listen, Castiel... thanks. For doing this. I know you're out of your comfort zone..."

Castiel gave him an incredulous look.

"Okay," said Sam, chuckling, "you're _way_ out of your comfort zone. You didn't have to do it but I'm glad you did."

"I'll always help you and your brother," said Castiel earnestly. "Dean has become very important to me."

Sam smiled. "Yeah... I noticed."

"Alright, your name's up on the board," said Bela, strolling into the changing rooms with a grim expression on her face. "Dean hasn't stampeded his way through the crowd so I'm guessing he hasn't seen it yet." She looked directly at Castiel and for a split second he thought she was going to thank him. "You better not screw up," she said and apparently he was mistaken.

"Just hits. No breaking bones, scratches, abrasions, scalping, gouging and ripping. Punches and kicks only," she said. "And keep it within ten minutes. I don't care if you think you can draw it out for longer, you're inexperienced and you'll probably fuck it up. Keep it to ten minutes," she repeated. "Buru will uppercut you seven minutes into the match, that's when you go down. He'll keep you there until the timer's up. Got it?"

Bone breaking? Scratching? _Scalping? _Castiel could only thank the heavens that he wasn't about to compete in a real RH fight. Swallowing down bile, he forced himself to answer. "I believe so," said Castiel. "Buru is...?"

"Your opponent," said Bela. "Buruburu he likes to call himself." She nodded at his black fighting boots and long black shorts with a green stripe down the side. "You're kind of puny but you've got more muscle definition that I thought you'd have. That'll make it more believable."

Castiel tempered the desire to throw out a sarcastic reply. He didn't care what _she_ thought. He was doing this for Dean and Sam.

A skinny blonde boy swung the door open, holding onto the door jamb as he said, "Bela? He's up," and rushed out again.

"This is it," said Bela. "_Please_, try not to fuck up."

Castiel rose to his feet, his stomach squirming like there was a writhing mass of snakes in it. She would have been better asking him not to vomit all over the ring.

* * *

As he walked out with Bela and Sam into the main part of Rippers, he had somehow forgotten the size of the audience and just how loud it was inside. The music vibrated violently through his chest. The ring was lit up in the centre, empty, cleaned of blood and waiting for Castiel. It was terrifying. He looked up at Sam for a scrap of comfort but Sam's attention was diverted elsewhere, scanning the crowd.

"Dean'll have found out by now," said Sam over the pounding music.

"Go find him and restrain him," ordered Bela. "He'll try and get in the ring."

At Sam's nod, he fought his way through the swarm of people and Bela manhandled Castiel towards the ring. The steps leading up to the cage entrance were made for a giant; his knee was level with his stomach as he climbed them.

When he reached the top he glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Bela behind him but she was already walking away, leaving Castiel standing there on his own. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He was feeling queasy from the sheer number of people and the hot spotlights shining down on him and then a hand slapped him on the shoulder. He jumped a foot in the air and spun around to a grinning face.

"Novak right?"

"Y-yes?"

"Sweet. Name's Ash," he said, holding out a hand. "Nice to meet ya. I'm the announcer."

Castiel took it gingerly. "I'm not sure what to..."

"It's cool. Bela filled me in. Stand in that corner over there and look grisly. You might want to stretch too." He winked. "Just to make it look real."

Sweat was already dripping from Castiel's forehead. "This is... this is going to be short. Isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah, chill, man. Buru knows not to rip you apart. You're cool."

Castiel honestly failed to see what aspect of his situation was 'cool'. He was making his way over to the corner of the ring, glancing at the cheering crowd and pulling in deep, deep breaths when the slightly springy arena floor shuddered. Dread curled at the base of his belly. He turned and his eyes landed on the biggest, broadest, baldest man Castiel had ever seen. He was at least double Castiel's weight with a good few inches on Castiel's height.

The cage door slammed with a horrible finality. For appearances sake Ash bolted the door closed and locked it. It was just a gimmick for the crowd – they loved it – but Castiel's body trembled with another wave of fear.

"NEXT UP, WE HAVE NEWBIE NOVAK VS YOUR CHAMP, BURUBURU!" yelled Ash into the mike.

The screams and foot stomping drowned out the sound of the music for a moment. Castiel's brows drew together.

His opponent eyed him up from head to toe and smirked, making a taunting motion with his hand. As a last ditch desperate attempt for comfort, Castiel sought Dean out in the sea of strange faces. His eyes flew over the audience and, like a magnet, they found him.

He was near the middle being held back by Sam and a man in a cap who Castiel didn't recognise. Dean was struggling violently, viciously shoving them away only to be restrained again, but then he caught Castiel's gaze and for a second he stopped moving. His eyes held nothing but anger and Castiel practically recoiled from it.

"ARE YOU READY?!"

Castiel's head snapped to Ash and then to Buruburu.

"I SAID ARE YOU READY?!"

The crowd screamed and the clanging bell above the cage signified the start of the match.

* * *

He could do it. Ten minutes wasn't a long time. It was short. Sixty seconds in a minute, six hundred in ten. Six hundred seconds was nothing in the grand scheme of things. And what was a punch or a kick or two? Castiel could handle that. He wasn't a complete weakling. Granted he had never intentionally struck or been struck by anyone in his life but that was beside the point. He would be fine. It wasn't as if there was a chance of him dying in the next ten minutes. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

Of course that was before Buru's meaty fist connected with Castiel's cheekbone. He learned, in that single hit, two things. The first: punches in the face were a lot more painful in reality than any television show or film made them out to be. And second: he wasn't so sure anymore that he would last a minute of those hits, let alone seven.

The weight behind that first strike threw Castiel backwards. He was on the floor before he had even clued into what had happened. His face was splattered with blood; he could taste it on his lips and feel it snaking down his cheek. To his left, his opponent had his arms in the air egging the roaring crowd on and Castiel suddenly realised that Buru was giving him a chance to get up. If he stayed down for longer than ten seconds he was out. Castiel shoved away the urge to do exactly that and heaved himself to his feet, wiping the blood away with his forearm.

Buru's gaze fixed on Castiel and he smiled. All teeth and gums in a sadistic grin. He charged, teeth bared eyes bulging and Castiel dove out of the way, feeling less like a contender and more like a mouse trapped in a cage with a cat. Buru made to grab him again but Castiel managed to dance away at the last second. They repeated the same moves several times and Castiel was beginning to hope he could get through the match just by avoiding him when a thick leg whipped out and caught Castiel in the midsection. He slammed into the cage, the bars rattling from the force of it, and then Buru was on him. His plate sized hand encircled Castiel's throat while the other curled into a fist.

Seconds before the fist made contact, Castiel's eyes squeezed shut. He heard rather than felt his nose crunch. Buru was merciless in his attack. He continued to beat Castiel in the face with his bloodied, club-like fist, the hand around his throat tightening with every strike.

Castiel struggled in his grasp but as he had learned with Dean, a cage fighter's grip was like iron, immovable and unbreakable. His fingers slipped uselessly over Buru's hand. He was kicking but it seemed to have no effect.

Blood clogged his mouth and nose. He could smell it and taste it, the coppery, stomach churning stench.

The hits continued one after the other until he was swallowing stomach fills of blood. The pain was bad but the blood was worse. He would never have thought it would be worse but it was. He could barely breathe. His wounds were opening and closing, opening and closing, spurting out more blood than he had ever lost in his life.

They were in the fourth minute by the time Castiel was hoping to pass out and he only knew that because Ash had felt the need to add a bit of commentary to his four minute beating.

"Pretty impressive if you ask me, guys. Four minutes and Novak is still conscious..."

Castiel's RH body was refusing to let him slip away. It clung on to consciousness, forcing Castiel to experience every punishing blow anew, each one just as painful as the first. There was no going numb in an RH body.

But then, abruptly, without warning, the hits stopped. Castiel coughed up the blood he had inhaled and gasped for breath. His eyes fluttered open and Buruburu was staring at him, smiling in that nerve-wracking way of his. He leaned in, lips close to Castiel's ear, like Dean often did but that was where the similarities ended, and said, "I like fear... and you _reek_ of it."

The break in the fight caused the crowd to boo. Regardless, Buru continued speaking calmly as if Castiel wasn't kicking and hitting him. "I've seen you in here before." He smelled revolting, of month old sweat and fast food. His stomach clenched. "I saw you. Kissing Winchester. And... I'll tell you what..." A slimy, cold tongue licked his ear and the hand on his throat snaked down to squeeze Castiel's ass. "If you blow me, I promise I won't rip off your pathetic boyfriend's dick next time I face him." Buru grinned, looking him in the eye. "How about that?"

It was as though a switch had been flipped. Anger raced through Castiel's veins like fire burning through petrol. Using his now free neck to his advantage, Castiel head butted Buru with as much power as he could muster which must have been a lot because his opponent stumbled backwards. Thinking fast, Castiel swept his foot out. It hooked around Buru's ankle and toppled him over. As he hit the ground the ring trembled. Castiel leapt on top of him, straddling his massive chest and raised his fist ready to strike but before it could make contact, Buru's palm slapped into Castiel's knuckles, halting him, and he smirked. "I liked it better when you were shaking with fear."

"If you hurt Dean again I'll kill you," growled Castiel.

"I'd like to see you—"

Castiel's left fist jabbed into Buru's throat. His opponent's eyes bulged and his hands flew up to his own neck, fingers scratching at a hidden pain.

"I've damaged your trachea and vocal chords. They won't heal properly without the attention of a doctor. If I hit you again in the same place you're going to suffocate. End this fight now before it gets any worse."

Castiel hadn't expected him to surrender so when Ash began the ten second countdown, he braced himself and Buru threw him across the ring. He rolled into bars but quickly got to his feet as Buru stormed towards Castiel. His opponent was grunting and snarling, mouth straining to get words out. Castiel's attack had, apparently, had the desired effect: Buru couldn't speak. His vocal chords had torn and repaired in a disfigured manner.

Castiel attempted to dodge out of the way but in a move faster than he thought possible, Buru's thick, tree trunk arm whipped out and his fingers tangled in Castiel's short hair, yanking him backwards. Another hand stuffed itself into Castiel's mouth, fingers curling behind his bottom teeth, thumb pushing into the soft flesh under his jaw. Imagined images of Dean losing half of his face filtered through his mind and Castiel began to panic. He was panicking so badly that he couldn't move. He was frozen with fear.

Buru pulled Castiel's mouth open slowly. He stretched it wider and wider and wider until something cracked and Castiel cried out, the desperation to flee kicking in. The corners of his mouth started to rip. The pain was like nothing he had ever known. It flooded his body. It paralysed him. Blood was spurting out of the wounds. He could feel it dripping onto his chest, hot and cooling fast. Flesh tore and Castiel screamed.

Over the pounding in his ears, he heard a distant, "DEAN, NO!" and something barrelled hard into his side. The fingers in Castiel's mouth slipped free, giving his cheeks and jaw the chance to heal. On his hands and knees, Castiel dragged in deep breaths. He was dizzy. Sick. He was petrified and on the verge of losing it all together. Castiel tried to reign himself in, forced his breathing to slow.

"DEAN!"

Castiel head shot up. It wasn't an illusion like he had thought. Dean really _was_ in the ring. He was beating Buru in face with both of his fists while Sam struggled to pull him away.

"YOU FUCKER!" roared Dean. "I'M GONNA RIP YOUR FUCKING HEART OUT YOU PIECE OF—" He stood up and stomped on Buru's face. Sam's arms encircled Dean's waist and, with effort, he yanked him back, falling over as he did so. Two burly men stepped into the ring and forced them to separate. The crowd was going wild.

"Soooo..." Ash called into the mike. "Onto the next fight I think."

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

"Dean, calm down—"

"This is _bullshit_!"

"Winchester, lower your fucking voice."

"NO! You sent my fucking boyfriend into the ring and you want me to _calm down_?! He could have died!"

"He wasn't going to get hurt—"

"He DID get hurt, you bitch!"

"But he's okay!"

"He's fucking TRAUMATIZED!"

From the bench in the changing rooms Castiel surveyed the argument between Sam, Bela and Dean in silence. He had known the aftermath was going to be dire but Dean was absolutely furious. Castiel certainly wasn't looking forward to explaining himself.

"He's a doctor! Not a fighter, Sam! How could you be so fucking stupid?!"

"I did it to save you!"

"No you did it to save yourself! You put Cas at risk and you went behind my back."

"Dean—"

"I'm taking him home." He glared at Bela. "He'd better get fucking paid for that match."

Bela rolled her eyes. "Yes." She sighed. "He will."

"Dean, wait."

"Back the fuck off, Sam. I don't even want to look at you," snapped Dean. He seized Castiel's hand and pulled him up. "We're leaving," he said, without meeting his gaze. Castiel scrambled to collect all of his clothes. He was still in his fighting gear and covered in blood as he stumbled after Dean.

* * *

The ride home was tense. Castiel had tentatively pointed out that he had his own car but Dean had thrown the passenger door open to the Impala and growled, "get in," leaving very little chance of Castiel disobeying.

Heavy rain drops splashed on the windscreen filling the silence with the weather's natural drum beat. Castiel looked at anything but Dean. They travelled through the deserted, night-time streets in the direction of Castiel's home. He wondered what was going to happen when they got there, if Dean would let him leave without discussing it or demand answers. Quite ironic. The tables had turned. It was now Castiel who didn't want to talk about it.

A mile away from home and Dean finally spoke. "If you do something like that again," he said quietly, "then it's over. I don't care what bullshit reason Sam gave you to make you do it. You do something like that again and I walk away."

Castiel's lips parted. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," said Dean, staring out at the road, windscreen wipers skipping back and forth.

"You can't command me like I'm some—"

"You went into the fucking ring, Cas. Wasn't I a good enough reason not to do it? Aren't I a walking example or what not to do?! I told you how brutal it was, I told you how dangerous it was and you went and did it anyway."

"Dean," said Castiel, exasperated, "you're acting as though I signed up for the sheer fun of it! I did it for you!"

"You put yourself in danger. That isn't doing me a fucking favour, Cas."

"I saved you and your brother, you selfish dick!"

"Saved me?" said Dean incredulously. "You didn't _save_ me! How many times do I have to tell you?! I DON'T NEED HELP!"

Castiel's teeth gnashed together. "Stop the car." His anger was like molten lava bubbling at the base of a volcano.

"What?"

"Stop the car. I want to walk home."

"No!"

Castiel swung the door open, forcing Dean to stamp on the brakes and the Impala to skid to a halt, and Castiel climbed out.

"You can't be serious? There's a fucking monsoon blowing outside!"

"I am and it's called a typhoon!" yelled Castiel, slamming the door shut and stomping off down the road. The wind had picked up and Castiel had to lower his head and cross his arms over his torso because of the rain whipping his face.

"Cas!"

Castiel ignored him and carried on walking. He wasn't even sure if he was going in the right direction.

"Cas!"

He had fought for Dean. He had suffered for Dean. Everything he had done that night had been for Dean and he had thrown it all in Castiel's face.

"Cas, wait, please."

A warm hand landed on his shoulder and Castiel stopped. He was cold and tired and upset. He looked up at Dean, into his soft eyes, and Dean stared back. The rain was lashing down, washing away the sweat and dried blood from Castiel's body, revealing the pallid skin underneath. Dean was soaked, his t-shirt clinging to his chest, darkened from the downpour.

"I did it for you," said Castiel, tears pricking his eyes.

Dean rubbed Castiel's arm. Inhaling and exhaling unsteadily. "I know... I know you did."

"You can't tell me not to protect you."

"I-I know," replied Dean, looking away.

"I'll always want to protect you."

Dean wiped a hand down his face and wrapped his arms around Castiel. His body was warm and welcoming and Castiel sank into it.

"I was scared, Cas. I couldn't... Watching him hurt you... it was torture," breathed Dean. "Fucking torture."

"I'm sorry," whispered Castiel.

"I'm sorry too."

They held each other while the rain beat down on them. It soon became clear that Dean's body heat wasn't going to be enough to keep Castiel from shivering. "Can we go home now?"

"Fuck yes. I'm freezing."


	7. Chapter 7

After a long shower Castiel returned to the sitting room in comfortable, butter soft clothes to find Dean frowning at the television set. He sat down next to him and smiled. "You look very serious," commented Castiel.

"Cas, you need a new T.V."

Castiel slipped his feet underneath him, knees bent and curled into Dean's side. "There's nothing wrong with the one I have," he replied, dragging a finger over the waistband of the fighter's black boxers; Dean's jeans and t-shirt were bouncing around in the dryer. He was dressed only in his underwear and it was safe to say that the sight of Dean's pectoral muscles and the curves of his abs were very distracting.

"Nothing wro – okay, let's forget for a second that it would probably take a helicopter to air lift that thing out of here if it ever crapped out on you; it has a glass screen, Cas. What have glass screens nowadays?"

"This one," hummed Castiel. He wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention. He was too busy focusing on the thin trail of hair below Dean's navel that disappeared under his boxers. Castiel's fingertip circled his boyfriend's belly button leisurely.

"Yeah, I noticed," said Dean. "The picture's fucked. I don't even know what I'm watching.

"Then we'll have to find another source of entertainment," murmured Castiel, sloping his fingers into Dean's underwear but he was stopped by a hand on his wrist. Castiel's gaze lifted to find Dean looking straight back. There was an intensity there that made his breath snag in his throat, preventing him from speaking.

Dean licked his lips, his eyes flicking down to Castiel's mouth for a brief second before he leaned in and gently, as soft as a butterfly's wing, kissed him. In that single kiss, Castiel's temperature soared to record degrees.

The weight of Dean's body urged him backwards until Castiel's back sank into the deep welcoming cushions of the sofa. He wrapped his arms and legs around Dean and pulled him in close.

They kissed deep and lazy, hands wandering, exploring, and Castiel once again had another taste of just how much Dean yearned to touch and be touched. His gentle hands were almost reverent as they traced Castiel's fair skin. They disappeared under his t-shirt, stroking over his nipples and bringing them to points. They squeezed his waist, slipped under his sweatpants and over the curves of his ass.

Their breaths became heavy and what had begun as a slow undulation of their entwined bodies burned into something more heated and urgent.

Clumsy, desperate hands pulled Castiel's sweats to his thighs, the air between them too warm for it to feel like a loss. He looked down in time to see Dean drop his boxers. His cock was long and hard and shiny at the head and Castiel gasped, a mix of surprise and lust, when Dean shifted his hips and their erections slipped together.

It was hot, slick and sticky where skin met skin. Dean's short, sharp breaths fluttered against Castiel's neck and they held onto each other, melded together, the pleasure increasing too rapidly to ever consider stopping.

Castiel lifted his hips to each one of Dean's thrusts, his hands on his ass pushing down. His climax was rising fast, like a towering wave about to crash into shore. He was panting into Dean's shoulder. Moans escaped him when Dean was particularly rough. And then, just as Castiel reached the peak, ready to tumble off the top, Dean sank his teeth deep into his neck and the sharp, shocking pain threw him into an orgasm so intense his whole body shook with it. Come spurted between them. He was almost unaware of the groan Dean expelled and the doubled load of semen sticking their bodies together. Castiel was riding a high. He was dizzy with it. His mouth was dry from panting too hard and he couldn't - wouldn't - move.

Eventually, Dean's head lifted and he raised himself up onto his elbows, gazing down at Castiel who was still breathless.

Castiel's eyes caught on the blood smeared over Dean's lip. "You bit me," he breathed. "No one has ever bitten me before."

Dean smiled. It was both lethargic and flirty. "You liked it though, huh?"

Castiel nodded quickly and Dean grinned. He climbed off of Castiel and they cleaned themselves up in the kitchen. Dean donned his newly dried clothes and they slumped back in front of the television, sharing kisses.

In the warmth of Dean's arms Castiel dozed off for awhile, trying to rid himself of some of the tiredness his adrenaline fuelled day had brought. When he woke up after an immeasurable amount of time, he was surprised to find Dean staring at him with a sombre expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" said Castiel, his voice cracking from sleep. He touched Dean's jaw only to have it moved out of his reach.

"Just thinking," he replied.

There was a sinking feeling in Castiel's stomach and he wasn't sure why. "About what?"

"It did that to me too," muttered Dean. He threaded his fingers through Castiel's and laid their hands on his stomach.

Castiel's brow furrowed. "Did what?"

"The pain," he said. "The fear. It made me horny. Made me want to fuck the energy right out of me." His gaze flicked between Castiel's eyes left and right as though he was searching for something. "It stays inside," he said. "It feels like you're gonna explode if you don't do something about it. All that anger and pain that's trapped inside with no outlet."

Was Dean waiting for him to suffer a nervous breakdown? The fight had taken its toll on Castiel's body and mind, there were no doubts about that, but he hadn't been in the ring nearly long enough for it to have any lasting effect. "I'm all right, Dean," he reassured.

Dean forced a laugh, nodding as he looked at their entwined hands. "I said that too."

"I am," Castiel insisted. "If you're worried that I'm going to have a breakdown then you can rest easy, I'm perfectly well."

Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Whatever. Just... just promise me one thing. Promise me you'll never fight in the ring again. I get that you want to help, I do, and... yeah, if I'm dying or dead," Castiel's frown deepened, "then help me but don't fight for me. Don't fight in the ring." His beautiful green eyes found Castiel's. "Promise me, Cas."

In the face of Dean's obvious concern it was nigh on impossible to deny him and yet... even as he opened his mouth to swear he wouldn't, there was a lingering doubt in the back of his mind, a posed question that was instinctual: would he do it all again to save Dean? Of course he would.

Castiel's lips sealed and his mouth formed a thin, tight line. They stared at each other and slowly, as the silence stretched and it became evident that Castiel wasn't going to grant his wish, Dean's face grew solemn. He let go of Castiel's hand, untangling their fingers roughly, and sat forward, elbows on his knees. Castiel could only see the side of his face but from what he saw, Dean wasn't happy.

"You won't promise? You won't give me that?" said Dean bitterly.

"I don't regret tonight and I'll do it all over again if it means keeping you safe."

"So what I want doesn't matter?"

"Not when it comes to your wellbeing." He watched the muscles shift in Dean's arms, back and shoulders, how they continuously tensed and released like he was fighting to stay calm. "Is it so terrible that I want you to be safe?" asked Castiel.

Dean stood up fast enough to startle Castiel. "And is it so bad that I want you to be safe too?" demanded Dean, glaring down at him. "Fuck, Cas. Is it so much to ask? Seriously? Because from where I'm standing it should be a fucking given."

"Dean," cried Castiel, still reeling from the sudden change in atmosphere, "you tear yourself apart in the ring every night of the week and you expect me to accept it—"

"I'm doing it for a good reason!" he yelled.

"And I wasn't?" said Castiel in shock. "What is it with you? Don't you consider your life to be something worth saving?"

The anger in Dean's eyes deadened. His jaw clenched and he looked away.

"Dean?" he said softly. "Isn't it?"

His lack of answer made Castiel's stomach twist in uncomfortable knots and then a horrible realisation dawned on him with all the slowness of a sunrise wiping away the darkness. Surely Dean didn't think he deserved to be mercilessly attacked day after day.

Dean snatched his jacket from the arm of the chair and made for the door but Castiel beat him to it.

"Please don't leave," begged Castiel, standing in front of him but Dean was refusing to meet his gaze. He was staring over Castiel's shoulder at the door. "Please." At a loss of what to do, Castiel placed a hand on Dean's chest. "We need to talk about this."

Dean's gaze snapped to Castiel's like a torn elastic band. "There's nothing to talk about." He pushed past Castiel and slammed the door shut on his way out.

* * *

Gabriel's place of work was a large electronic store on the eastern side of town called, 'Tech Tock' or as Gabriel fondly referred to it, 'Tech Cock'. He had managed to keep the job for over two years which was impressive since most employers found his personality to be, at best, a little trying.

Castiel walked through the double doors and spotted him immediately, perched on the counter by the tills, munching his way through a bag of M&Ms.

"Cassy!" he sang once Castiel made his presence known. "What're you doing here?"

"I thought you needed me to pick you up?"

"Ohhh, no, Sammy's giving me a ride later," he waggled his eyebrows, "literally. Don't you remember? I told you yesterday."

Castiel sighed, nodding. "Yes...I must have forgotten..." he muttered.

Appraising him, Gabriel tilted his head, chucking M&Ms into his mouth at random intervals. "You okay?"

"Yes..." He frowned. "No."

"What's up, amigo?"

"Dean and I...we've had an argument."

Gabriel stopped eating, lowering the bag in his hands. "I'm guessing from the look on your face it wasn't about whose dick is bigger."

Castiel ignored the joke. "Have you spoken to Sam today?"

"No, why?"

"You don't know what happened last night?"

Gabriel shook his head and Castiel proceeded to fill him in on the previous night's events, leaving no detail left unsaid. He stumbled through the gorier parts.

"Are you fucking _crazy_?!" exclaimed Gabriel when Castiel's story came to a close. "You're lucky you're not dead!"

A sharp spike of irritation leapt inside his chest. "I did it for your boyfriend. I would have thought you'd be a little more grateful."

"I _am_ grateful, it took balls to do what you did but you still shouldn't have done it."

"It was the only option left."

"You should have thought of something else and Sam was wrong to ask you in the first place. Deano's got every right to be pissed."

Castiel had been hoping that Gabriel would – as juvenile as it sounded – be on his side but he was just as against what Castiel had done as Dean was. It didn't make any sense. Thanks to Castiel, no one was imprisoned or facing a Pellegrino firing squad.

After a moment of silence, Gabriel chuckled. "Cage fighting." He shook his head. "I didn't know you could be such a badass." He emptied the contents of the M&M bag into his mouth.

Castiel smiled wryly. "It's a shame Dean isn't as impressed as you are."

"Is that why you had a spat? Because you're more badass than he is?" said Gabriel, screwing up the empty packet and throwing it over his shoulder without a care in the world. Castiel sometimes envied his ability to be lackadaisical. Problems seemed to roll off Gabriel like beads of water off a duck's back.

"Not quite," said Castiel. "If you don't need me, I'm going to go. I have a late appointment at the surgery." Becky had made a note for an appointment with a "John Doe" at eight thirty in the evening. The fake name gave him the impression that it was something to do with Crowley and his gang.

"Sure thing, baby-cakes," said Gabriel and just as Castiel was about to leave he added, "You and Deano are gonna be fine, you know."

Smiling at his friend's attempt at comfort, Castiel said, "You sound so sure."

"Of course I am."

"And why is that?"

"Because he loves you."

Castiel's stomach leapt as though he had jumped off a tall building. A fiery blush stained his cheeks. "H-how... He does?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Urg... How can you be so _blind_? Anyway," he sang. "I have work to be doing, toodle-pip!"

"You never work!" Castiel called as his best friend bounced away.

* * *

As Castiel had assumed the appointment for eight thirty had been booked for Crowley. What he hadn't expected, however, was his companion. Castiel stared at the enormous, slobbering, panting, muscle-bound grey pit-bull sitting in his surgery waiting room and frowned. "Crowley, this is a dog."

The man himself - mob boss, criminal genius and a tendency to escape the clutches of the law – was standing beside the beast, hands in the pockets of his dark overcoat, face passive. "Your point being?"

"I'm not a vet," said Castiel. He eyed the thick bands of muscle and its wide bone crunching jaws and took a deliberate step back. There wasn't even a leash attached to its spiked collar.

"He just needs a few stitches. You can do that."

"I..." Castiel's mouth snapped shut when the dog suddenly stood up, sniffing under the waiting room chairs. "I'm not qualified to deal with animals. You should take him to a veterinary clinic." _And far away from me,_ he wanted to add.

"Yeah, I'd rather not. Anonymity and all that? I'm sure you can do it," he dropped a wad of notes on the table, "for the right incentive."

"It isn't about money," said Castiel.

"Then why not do it to help a poor crook out?" He raised a brow. "I'd owe you."

Now that caught Castiel's interest. He had a suspicion a favour from a mob boss like Crowley could come in handy in the near future. Especially with Dean's debt coming to a close. He doubted the Pellegrino family would simply let the Winchesters out of their agreement with a wave and a smile. There were going to be at least some issues even if they did keep their word and set Dean free of his sentence.

Castiel nodded and picked up the cash. "Wait here a moment, while I fetch some equipment," he said, warily stepping around the wandering dog.

On its way into the surgery, Castiel had noticed the small gash on the pit-bull's hind leg which on any healthy human being would have been simple to treat but this was a _dog_ and not just any dog, _Crowley's_ dog which had no doubt been taught a few tricks on how to efficiently tear out jugulars. Therefore Castiel thought his qualms about sticking the beast with needles were completely warranted.

When he returned to the waiting room, necessary equipment in hand, Crowley was petting the dog's head affectionately, looking one step shy of cooing. The sight caused a bubble of laughter to build in Castiel's chest but he swallowed it down.

"You should probably hold him," instructed Castiel, "because this may sting a little."

"Fergus is a like brick wall. It'd take more than a needle to upset him," replied Crowley but he held the dog's collar nevertheless.

Castiel looked up from where he was crouched. "Fergus? You named your dog Fergus?"

"Problem?"

"No, I was just surprised," said Castiel, injecting the anaesthetic. Thankfully, the dog was calm. He did little else other than sniff Castiel's gloved hand as the needle went in. He had curiously large yellow eyes that inspected both Castiel and the room with unnerving scrutiny.

"What did you expect? Fluffy?"

"Cerberus," said Castiel and Crowley laughed.

"Who'd have thought? The doc has a sense of humour after all."

Castiel cleaned and stitched up the wound with relative ease. Once he was finished he advised Crowley to buy a plastic collar to keep his pet from disturbing the stitches but it was met with a look of distain from both the dog and its owner.

"He's not going to scare away Pellegrino scum with a cone strapped to his head."

"I suppose not," said Castiel, removing his gloves. He dropped them in the disposal unit behind Becky's desk. "I take it you don't get along with the Pellegrino mob?"

"It's a mutual understanding. They stay off my turf and I stay off theirs. But as of late that rule doesn't seem to apply."

"What do you mean?"

Crowley leant against the wall. "Word on the street is they've lost the Colt."

Castiel's eyebrows flew up. Three years ago Michael Milligan had been shot dead along with the rest of his criminal syndicate by Lucifer Pellegrino, the head of the Pellegrino family. The dispute between the two mobs had reached breaking point when Michael personally insulted Lucifer by slaughtering some of his closest family members. In vengeance Lucifer had cornered Michael and his gang and killed each and every one of them with a bullet to the head from a customised weapon that only Lucifer knew how to use.

The Colt was a trademark of the Pellegrino family and had been passed down from boss to son for generations. It was jealously guarded and a weapon the FBI had been desperate to get their hands on for years. With its unique signature bullets, every life taken with the Colt could be traced back to Lucifer but without the gun there was no evidence and with no evidence there was no charge. Should the gun ever land in the possession of the FBI, the Pellegrino mob would be finished.

"Did someone steal it?" said Castiel.

"Who knows? They're scurrying around like cockroaches trying to find it. I've got some of my boys searching for it too."

"Why do you want it?"

Crowley chuckled. "Why? Lucifer and his band of merry men are the reason I'm at the bottom of the bloody food chain. So... if I find the gun and hand it over to the FBI." He smirked. "Problem solved."

* * *

The next Saturday came and went and Castiel still hadn't heard a word from Dean. He had left a couple of messages on Dean's answering machine and called him once a day only to be ignored. It was upsetting. His heart ached from the lack of contact and Dean's ignorance. He didn't know what more he could do. Since all frequenting patients at Castiel's surgery were required to give a home address, he had Dean's but because he had never been officially invited there Castiel felt it was off limits. He didn't want to invade Dean's privacy and subsequently anger him further.

And so, on a Monday night, Castiel found himself inside the vibrating innards of Rippers, weaving his way through the crowd to get to the bar. The fact of the matter was he missed Dean and if watching him fight was the only way he was going to see him again then Castiel was willing to pay the price.

He perched on one of the high stools and ordered a Dewar's, neat, sipping slowly as he listened to Ash introduce the next fight. Dean wouldn't be on until later so he had a good hour or more to waste. A part of him wanted to go backstage and ask for Dean but the thought of explaining to Bela why he simply couldn't use a phone to contact him was enough to keep him in his seat.

"Let me guess..." An attractive man leant against the bar beside Castiel. "You're a virgin librarian who's had enough of shelving books and chatting to the timorous visitors and their counterparts so you figure you'd go to one of the goriest cage fighting clubs in the city to absorb some of the carnivorous atmosphere and maybe, possibly, pull one of its patrons. Am I right?"

Castiel's glass was still floating by his lips. He lowered it and blinked. "I'm sorry but I'm not sure what that was supposed to be."

"It's a summary of you," said the stranger, lazily. He was busy folding up a hundred dollar bill in his hands, creasing and crinkling it into a shape Castiel couldn't make out in the dim lighting.

"Then you're mistaken," said Castiel not without bitterness. Dean had made similar assumptions about Castiel when they had first met. What was it about him that made everyone assume he was a virgin? Or a librarian? Was it his predilection for suits and trench coats? Perhaps he had been unknowingly born with an unalterable expression of sexual frustration. He hoped it wasn't that.

"I'm not so sure..." drawled the man.

"I'm not a virgin."

"Dildos don't count, you know."

Castiel's face flushed with heat. "I-that is none of your business!" He turned pointedly away hoping his unwanted visitor would get the picture.

Unfortunately, he didn't.

"Hey, I'm not judging. I like a big fat dildo up my ass just as much as the next gay guy," said the man, standing on the other side of Castiel. "So what's your name, princess?"

Castiel ignored him.

"Hmmm..." The man tilted his head to the left, resting it on his shoulder and smiling. "You're not going to tell me?"

"No."

"Aww, why not?"

"Because I don't wish to talk to you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

The man grinned and a warm hand landed on Castiel's thigh, edging uncomfortably closer to his—

"Stop!" snapped Castiel, shoving the persistent hand away. He couldn't believe the man's audacity! Hadn't Castiel made it clear enough that he wasn't interested?

The man smirked. "You're adorable," he said. "I think I might—"

"Do you wanna tell me what the _fuck_ you think you're doing?"

An embarrassing shiver ran down Castiel's spine, his head was spinning in a way that had nothing to do with the drink in his hand and if he wasn't sitting down, he would have clutched the counter for support.

It had only been a week. A short week since he had last laid eyes on Dean but the sight still overwhelmed him. He looked painfully handsome, dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, eyes narrowed, lips edging towards a snarl. His stance was predatory and his gaze was fixed on Castiel's admirer. It was the same look Castiel had seen on Dean's face while in the ring. All power, confidence and anger with a promise of violence. If Castiel had been on the receiving end he would have backed away.

The man gave Dean a cursory glance and then rolled his eyes. "Winchester. Must you always spoil my fun?"

"Fuck off, Roman, before I break both of your legs and make you crawl home."

"I'm a paying customer. Bela won't be pleased."

"Bela won't give a shit. She hates you."

"I'm sure she won't deprive me of a quick fuck."

The look of silent hatred on Dean's face was enough to prompt Castiel to speak. "Dean, it's okay, I wasn't—"

"He's taken," said Dean. His eyes still hadn't left the man called 'Roman' and Castiel was praying to whatever celestial being above that Dean wouldn't start a fight; he didn't need another reason to be thrown in jail.

"Really?" said the man, finally giving Dean his attention. "By who? You? Because if that's true then you're not doing a very good job since he's in here drinking alone."

"I'm not interested," insisted Castiel. He stood up and prepared to act as a barrier between the two in case the argument escalated. "I wasn't looking for a date."

"You need to leave," said Dean, ignoring Castiel.

"Aww, what's wrong? Can't stand a little healthy competition?"

Dean stepped in close. "You're not competition."

"I'm sure I could fuck your boy—"

The man's face slammed into the bar so hard that the entire counter shook. Dean, whose hand was still gripping the back of Roman's neck, leaned down and whispered something in his ear, something much too quiet for Castiel to make out. He then released him and the man staggered away with a splash of blood coating his nose and mouth.

Dean seemed to take a moment to breathe before he turned around to face Castiel. "That's Dick Roman. He's a pain in the ass but he won't give you any more trouble."

"What did you say to him?"

"That you were mine," replied Dean, moving to stand in front of Castiel, so close that their breaths mingled. "And that I protect what's mine."

"I'm yours?" said Castiel. His back bumped the edge of the bar when he stepped away. "You've been ignoring me for a week. You can hardly claim me as yours."

"I never said it was over."

"You didn't have to."

Over the pounding music Castiel didn't hear Dean sigh but he saw it in the movement of his chest. "Cas," said Dean. "I'm sorry, okay? You're the only thing I've got in my life that isn't fucked up and I wanted to keep it that way." He pressed their bodies together from hip to toe. "I wasn't ignoring you, I swear, I just didn't know what to do. I've never felt... I mean... If it's any consolation I was gonna see you tonight."

"After you'd figured I'd been punished enough?"

Dean released another long breath and it brushed Castiel's face. His hands were rubbing up and down Castiel's sides deliciously and even though he was determined to be angry, his body swayed with the movements. He allowed himself to fall against Dean, face pressed into his neck. Soon, all Castiel could feel and all he was aware of was the heat of Dean's body radiating from him and the smell of his skin.

"I've missed you," sighed Castiel.

"I missed you too, Cas," said Dean and his arms tightened around his waist.

"We can't keep arguing about this..."

"I know."

Pulling back to look at him, Castiel said, "You have to understand that I'll do what I have to to protect you."

"Then I'll just have to make sure it doesn't come to that."


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel stayed for Dean's fight and compared to the others he had witnessed it was reasonably tame. The word 'tame' used in its broadest sense, of course. Dean's wounds were limited to a broken wrist and a torn ligament in his hand which healed under Castiel's watchful gaze and probing fingers.

While Dean showered, Castiel waited awkwardly in the changing rooms. There was a large, hairy gentleman to his right who was stark naked and busy picking at a mysterious stain on his towel. Castiel kept his eyes averted. He dreaded to think what sight would greet him if he happened to look round just as the man bent over. The only ass Castiel was remotely interested in was Dean's which incidentally he hadn't seen. He had felt it though, squeezed it, while Dean had thrust his hips. The memory caused warmth to pool low in his abdomen. He fidgeted and subtly shifted his trench coat into his lap. The last thing he needed was for his changing room companion to get the wrong idea about the bulge in his pants.

Eventually, after few more minutes of inspecting his towel, the man dressed and exited, leaving Castiel alone.

Not long after, the soft pad of footsteps drew his gaze. Dean had returned dressed in nothing but a plain white towel. Castiel knew he was gaping but it was hard not to. There was water dripping from Dean's hair, slipping over his skin, curving around his hardened nipples and soaking into the edge of the towel which was slung low on his hips.

Dean noticed Castiel staring and smiled at him, softly, a small smile that made Castiel's tummy flip-flop. It was the sweetest smile he had ever seen on Dean's face and Castiel didn't doubt for a second that it was a rarity. That moment of sweetness turned Castiel on more than the sight of Dean himself.

"What're you looking at?" said Dean, chuckling. He cupped Castiel's jaw and leaned down to kiss him.

Castiel swallowed, nerves and excitement fluttering in his belly. When Dean tried to move away, Castiel secured his hips in both of his hands. He bit his lip. Heat was flooding his cheeks. Daring had never been on Castiel's list of attributes. Under no circumstances had Castiel had sex or even _wanted_ sex in a public place and yet, having Dean in front of him, practically naked and dripping wet, it was too much to resist.

Dean looked down at him expectantly. "What's wrong?" he said and pushed his fingers through Castiel's short hair. "You're not still mad at me are you?"

Shyly, Castiel edged forward and kissed the jut of Dean's hip. His tongue slipped out, sampling the beautiful skin and he heard Dean's breathing hitch. The sound was incredibly satisfying. Marred by soap, Dean still tasted wonderful. The feel of his smooth, saliva-slick skin under Castiel's tongue reminded him of other areas of Dean's body he could taste.

His fingers delved underneath the edge of the towel but before he pulled it off, he looked up at his boyfriend for permission. Dean's eyes were dark, lips parted, and he was watching Castiel intently; it was all the encouragement Castiel needed to peel the towel away.

The soft _flump_ as the fabric hit the floor was hidden beneath the sounds of their combined breathing.

Castiel's hands skated the length of Dean's thighs, the muscles twitching beneath his palms. Dean's dick was hard, flushed and level with Castiel's mouth. He traced his fingers up his legs and wrapped them around the thick shaft of Dean's cock.

Shuffling forward on the low bench, Castiel licked his lips and took the head into his mouth. The low groan from Dean as he sucked forced Castiel to palm his own erection.

"Fuck, Cas," he whispered.

He could tell Dean was tempted to push him, force him to swallow his whole length because his fingers were twitching at the back of Castiel's head but he stayed still and allowed Castiel to pleasure him at his own pace.

As Castiel sucked and licked, saliva dripped down his chin and the hand that was firmly stroking Dean's erection. He listened to his boyfriend's breathing, the small moans he made and the gentle urging to know exactly what Dean enjoyed and the rhythm he liked best, delving his tongue into the slit at the head, sucking hard enough to hollow out his cheeks and cupping his balls.

He wanted to make it good for Dean but his concentration and technique soon dissolved into a messy, semi-deep throating and groping and it grew more desperate until Dean was thrusting into his mouth, unstrained, gag reflex be damned. Castiel was painfully hard. He had no choice but to reach into his pants and pull out his cock, stroking fast as Dean abused to his mouth.

Both hands were on the back of Castiel's head, holding him in place while Dean fucked past his lips, hitting the back of Castiel's throat mercilessly. Castiel swallowed on impulse and the moan that escaped Dean was pornographic. It was so dirty Castiel's orgasm hit him by surprise and he came with a rush of sheer pleasure, come spurting from his cock.

He wanted to slump down, maybe fall asleep, but Dean held him up, used Castiel's mouth, tongue and throat to chase his own climax. He shoved in three more times and then come flooded Castiel's mouth, spilling past his lips and down his chin. Castiel had to pull away to swallow what he could. He stroked Dean to completion and then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Oh, fuuuck..." groaned Dean. Limp, he picked up his fallen towel and sat down heavily beside Castiel. "Fuck," he said again and Castiel chuckled. He plucked Dean's towel out of his hands and used it to clean up any excess come.

"Oh, Christ," muttered Dean. He lay down on the bench and slung an arm over his eyes. "That was so fucking good."

Castiel couldn't help but grin. He fixed his clothes and turned to Dean, laying a hand on his bare foot, thumb stroking back and forth. He admired the expanse of Dean's naked frame, listened to him ramble inconsequential praise words and felt an uncontrollable surge of affection.

"Dean..." he began quietly. Castiel suddenly had the urge to tell Dean how much he meant to him but something held him back.

"Hmm?" mumbled Dean.

Castiel's brows drew together. What if Gabriel was wrong? What if Dean didn't feel that way about Castiel? What if Castiel said he loved him and it scared Dean away? What then? He wasn't sure Dean was the type to fall in love so easily. Would it be better to wait for Dean to say it first?

He opened his mouth ready to pass off his half finished sentence as something else when he was stopped by the sounds of voices outside and the very distinct use of the word 'Colt'.

"I told you I wanted all of it now. Five hundred thousand and not a dollar less."

"I haven't got that kind of money."

"I don't give a fuck!"

"Cas?" said Dean.

"Shh!" he hissed, moving to stand under the open, narrow windows near the ceiling of the changing rooms. He could have sworn he had heard Bela's voice...

"Take the money."

"Five hundred thousand, Brady! Or you won't see this fucking thing ever again."

It was definitely Bela and someone else called Brady. Had she really managed to find the Colt? Had it been her who had stolen it originally? It seemed like something Bela would do. The Colt after all was worth an awful lot of money if it was sold to the right buyer.

"No, actually, you won't see it again."

An explosive _bang_ echoed through the changing room walls and Castiel whipped around to look at Dean who was just as dumbstruck as he was.

Castiel didn't wait for Dean. Ignoring his boyfriend's shouts to stop, he raced out of the door and down the corridor following the luminous arrow to the fire exit and shoved open the heavy door.

Cold air hit him and he stumbled into a wide, dark alleyway with three possible routes to take. At the end of each was nothing but darkness. The path itself was swallowed up by the night. There were no reassuring security lights or sounds of traffic on a nearby road, only the glow from lights inside windows too far up to be any use. There was no sound. It was eerily quiet.

Just as he deliberated, he heard the thunder of footsteps to his right and turned in time to see a man racing past him with two guns clutched in his hands. One of which was no doubt the Colt.

Castiel hesitated for a fraction of a second before he raced after the stranger. His guilt was already pounding through him at the thought of Bela being fatally injured but his gut had told him to chase after the Colt. He had made a decision and now he had to stick with it.

The man glanced over his shoulder, spying Castiel. He took a sharp left down another backstreet and Castiel followed. He was already out of breath. In no way was Castiel fit. He was having trouble keeping up but his luck changed when the man suddenly grinded to a halt, skidding on the pavement.

Spinning around, the man sprinted back towards Castiel. He only had a second to be confused when he spotted the four men dressed in dark clothing running in their direction.

They were either members of Lucifer's mob or Crowley's. Which one, Castiel didn't care to find out but in the moment it took to turn, another _bang_ reverberated off the buildings and something heavy ploughed into Castiel's back.

He hit the ground hard, his palms scraping against the rough pavement. The weight at his back hindered his movements and prevented him from rolling over. He looked behind and his stomach rolled when he caught sight of the man's head, which was missing half of its skull, lolling against his shoulder.

A direct hit. If Castiel had doubted that these men were professionals before then he had didn't now.

The footsteps were drawing closer.

Fighting panic, Castiel heaved the lifeless body off of him and gulped down the vomit that was threatening rise. He scrambled to his feet, his heart in his throat, and tried to run but before he could get a few yards away a searing pain bolted through his leg followed by the noise of another bullet firing. He collapsed and heaved in shocked gasps. Blindly, he groped his calf as he rolled onto his back and his hand came back smeared with blood.

The men closed in like wolves surrounding wounded prey.

Castiel's eyes darted from face to face, gun to gun. The first in the four crouched down to retrieve the Colt and tucked it safely into the inside pocket of his dark overcoat. All four men were grisly looking with grim faces and cold stares. They were young, from what he could tell, except the one at the end, who had grey peppered in his hair, leaving Castiel to believe that the first three were possibly RHs. Not that Castiel would be any match against experienced killers like these but the fact that they were rapid healers made his percentage chance of survival less than zero.

The third man stepped forward, lifted his gun and pointed it at Castiel's face. The shiny, coal black barrel at the end of his nose seemed too big for the rest of the weapon. It looked more like a cannon.

"Alright," said the stranger. "You've got ten seconds to tell me why I shouldn't put a bullet in your head." He looked at his watch. "Go."

* * *

Castiel's mind was utterly blank. Not a lie, excuse or plea came to mind. The only thing that walked out of his mouth was a gasp. Seconds ticked by; surely more than ten.

"I...I..." he stammered, searching, clawing the recesses of his deserted mind for _anything_ that would help him. And then he saw it. A brief flash of two orbs in the gloom and the _tick, tick, tick_ of clawed feet on paved ground. The giant pit-bull walked slowly out of the shadows and sat down by a pile of black garbage bags, its pink, slimy tongue overhanging its gaping mouth.

"Fergus?" breathed Castiel.

"What?" said one of the men.

"That's it?" said another dubiously. His finger on the trigger twitched and Castiel's eyes snapped to the gun.

"Wait, wait I—"

"Hello, boys," said an all too familiar voice. The four turned as Crowley appeared out of the shadows. The mob boss took in the scene before him; Brady's motionless body, the men and the gun trained on Castiel. "Having fun?"

"The fuck are you doing here?" said one of the men.

"I could ask you the same thing," said Crowley. "In case you missed the memo, this is my turf and that," he nodded to Brady's prone form, "was my man."

"And in case you're fucking blind," snapped another man, pointing the gun at Crowley, "there are four of us and one of you!"

"Wait," said the eldest man. "You were trying to steal the Colt?!"

"Steal is such a harsh word."

"You son of a bitch! When the boss finds out, you're _history_, Crowley!"

"Yeah, I don't think so." A dozen or more of Crowley's mob moved into view, flanking their leader, each of them armed and ready to fire.

While they were distracted Castiel had been gradually shuffling backwards inch by inch, praying that Fergus, who was the only one watching Castiel, wouldn't alert anyone to his movements.

"Hand over the Colt."

"I'd rather die."

"I can arrange that for you."

The corner of the alley wasn't far away. The wound in his leg had already healed though the bullet was still inside. He could feel it in the meat of his calf and every time he shuffled backwards there was an eye-watering lash of pain that seemed to travel through his entire body. Regardless of the pain, he continued to move. The tension in the air was taut like piano strings. It was going to snap at any moment.

"You won't get away with this, Crowley."

"I beg to differ."

"Lucifer is going to destroy you!"

"He can try. Either way you won't be around to see it."

"You fucking-!"

Castiel leapt to his feet.

"Sic 'em boys!" yelled Crowley.

The thunderous eruption of firing was too loud to bear. His ears stung from the ferocity of noise but he continued running without looking back, ignoring the sharp jagged shards of pain in his leg.

In his haste to escape, he crashed straight into a hard muscled chest. It was the touch of his hands that Castiel recognised first and despite the gun shots ringing behind, relief automatically swam through him.

"Where the hell have you been?!" growled Dean. Castiel was too out of breath to speak but Dean apparently wasn't waiting for an answer. "This place is swarming with Pellegrino's men. We've walked into a fucking trap! We need to move! Now!" He towed Castiel through the darkness, not stopping when Castiel cried out from the pain in his leg.

The firing suddenly ceased, leaving only their footfall to cut through the quiet.

In the distance, the exit to the club was in sight. Dean's hand was tight on his, so tight it was painful. He wanted to stop, just for a moment because the pain gripping his body was excruciating, but Dean wouldn't let him.

"Dean! Please, please stop..." he begged. Castiel tugged on Dean's arm to give weight to his plea and thankfully, thankfully, Dean stalled.

Air rushed in and out of Castiel's lungs, his heart was beating its way out of his chest, whereas Dean was breathing perfectly normally. The only evidence that he had exerted himself at all was the slight red tinge high on his cheeks.

"Cas," he said, "What the fuck did you think you were doing?!"

"The Colt! Crowley has the Colt!" panted Castiel.

"So what?!" exclaimed Dean. "It's not our shit to deal with!"

"But if we have the Colt we can use it to set you free," said Castiel. "You won't have to fight!"

Irritated, Dean threw his head back and scrubbed his hands through his short hair. He made a frustrated sound and grasped Castiel's face between both of his palms. "I've got some serious issues with this guardian angel crap, Cas. You've got to think about yourself! If you die what the fuck am I gonna do, huh? I need you. I can't lose you. You got that? I fucking need you, Cas! You can't go wading into a pile of shit like this and expect to come out whole. It fucked me up and it's gonna fuck you up too. I'm trying to keep you safe. I'm doing my fucking best to keep you out of this but you're making it damn difficult." His thumb brushed Castiel's cheek bone and as they stared at each other, Dean's eyes grew soft and the energy in them faded.

"I love you, Dean," said Castiel.

There was no hesitation and no flicker of uncertainty when Dean said, "I love you too."

* * *

_"Sir, we have officers at the tip off location and there is no activity, hasn't been for an hour."_

Henricksen sighed. "Okay, thanks, Officer Winston. You and your men can move out." He snapped his phone shut, staring out at the dark, inauspicious streets with distain.

"I told you it was bullshit," grunted Turner.

"We had to check it out."

"Waste of time if you ask me."

The silence lingered. He hated Turner's negativity; it got under his skin. "Maybe we should stake out the Pellegrino estate..."

"I'm telling you, they're jerking us off. The Colt is out there still. Probably up the ass of some crack head prostitute whose client has a fetish for gun-play."

"You know, Turner, that's really fucking disgusting."

"Yeah? Well, welcome to Earth. It aint home if there isn't gun crime, thievery and prostitutes selling blow jobs for fifty bucks a pop."

Henricksen rubbed his face. At the loud jingle of his cell phone he flipped it open again and pressed speaker. "Agent Henricksen," he said.

_"Sir, this is Officer Medlin. You asked to be informed of any suspicious activity at the cage fighting club, Rippers?"_

"Yeah, that's right."

_"There have been numerous reports of gun fire at the rear of the club. Officers are on the scene now and have confirmed at least three homicides."_

"On our way," he replied quickly, starting the engine.

* * *

Henricksen and Turner arrived at the scene just over ten minutes later. A crowd had formed near the alley entrance and there were police officers holding the onlookers back.

They slipped under the tape and Medlin came ambling up to them. "Five homicides in total, sir. There's also an injured woman," he looked at his notes, "A Miss Bela Talbot. She was shot in the shoulder and is so far refusing to talk."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, uh... there's a, uh, a..dog."

Henricksen stopped walking. "A dog?"

"Yes, sir. With a gun."

"A dog with a gun? Officer Medlin you're not making much sense."

"I think you need to see this for yourself, sir."

A little out of the way of the corpses of men Henricksen recognised as part of Pellegrino's mob was a grey pit-bull with a spiked collar and a gun at its feet.

"Is that..."

"The Colt, sir, yes," agreed the officer. "No one has been able to get near it though. We'd try the catch pole but we don't want to risk the dog running off with the gun."

"Can't you shoot it?" asked Turner.

Henricksen grimaced. "We're not going to shoot it." He looked to Medlin. "What about a tranquilizer?"

"Actually, sir, it's simple. We think he's waiting for you."

His brows drew together in confusion. "Why do you think that?"

"The note, sir," said the young man, indicating to the pit-bull.

Hanging from the dog's mouth was, indeed, a message scrawled on a plain white piece of paper. It read: _The Colt for Agent Henricksen, with love._

* * *

_"Judge rules a life sentence for Lucifer Pellegrino and several of his associates after a lengthy court battle. Prosecutor says justice has been served and couldn't be happier with result..."_

Sunlight warmed Castiel's back and the side of his face that wasn't squished into the pillow. He dozed in and out of reality, only vaguely aware of the noises that were going on around him.

"Yeah, Cas won't mind. Bring them over. No. No. I don't know." A sigh. "Because he's asleep."

_"In other news, the cage fighting club Rippers has been closed down after one of its fighters tore the jaw off their opponent in what was revealed to be an RH fight. The majority of the fighters listed including the owner and manager, Bela Talbot, have consequently been arrested and are pending their court cases. Undercover officers had been scouting the club for months prior to the incident and told reporters, 'it was only a matter of time'."_

"Bobby said he'll help me set it up. Yeah. He said I should call it, Singer Auto Repair." A laugh. "I said that too. Pretty sure he was joking, Sam. So what are you going to do? Law? Yeah... Awesome. I'd have my own lawyer. What? Because you're my brother, bitch!"

Castiel smiled.

"Okay. Bye. Yeah. Oh, wait, tell Gabe the T.V is awesome and see if he can get me a discount on that massage chair. The black one. No. I don't care. I'm saving up for it. Don't care. Not listening. Not listening. Yeah, bye to you too." Dean chuckled and Castiel heard the phone clatter on the side table.

"I agree with Sam about the chair."

Dean rolled over, slapping Castiel's ass. "How long have you been awake?"

"Too long," mumbled Castiel into the pillow. "I'm exhausted."

"Well, we did fuck for like three hours. And you were riding my cock for about half of that time," reasoned Dean. His hand slipped under the sheets, down Castiel's back and over the curve of his ass. "Wanna go again?"

"Mm... not right now."

Dean sighed exaggeratedly. "We're wasting perfectly good sexy-time."

"We've got tomorrow."

"And then next day."

"And the next..." mumbled Castiel. He meant to say more but he could already feel himself drifting off into an easy sleep with the warm weight of Dean's body beside him.

* * *

THE END


End file.
